


Love and Levirate

by JessicaJones



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-10
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:22:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaJones/pseuds/JessicaJones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair was not Cailan.  He was only a collection of similar shortcomings, wearing her dead husband's face.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Picture of Instability

**Author's Note:**

> Levirate, in case you do not want to consult your dictionary, is the practice of marrying a widow to her husband's brother, in order to maintain the family line.
> 
> Thanks to Witchy Bee and Mutive for the betas!

-o-

"So... I guess we're married now."

The bastard looked very much like her late husband at the same age. Alistair and Cailan both resembled Maric, who looked exactly like Brandel the Defeated, who was the spitting image of Calenhad the Great, if she could believe the tapestries. The Theirin blood was dominant and unmistakable, and Anora was bound to it, again.

"Yes," she said, smoothing her champagne dress.

"If it's all the same to you, I'd like to be alone tonight," Alistair said, as they walked slowly down the hallway that led away from the Great Hall, where they had just exchanged their vows. "This has been very… exhausting."

Anora frowned. Alistair had grown up in a world apart from this, she knew that, but his ignorance was still surprising. Just because they seemed alone didn't mean they weren't being watched.

"It paints a picture of instability, if we do not spend the night together," she explained.

He shifted uneasily. There were some differences, she noted. Alistair was perhaps an inch shorter than Cailan, and his hair was coarser, a little darker. A scar traced the line of his jaw near his left ear. And he wore that vial of darkspawn blood around his neck, and her father's blood, on his hands. Some small differences.

"Look, my best friend in the whole world just died," he said. His eyes were tired, as they both remembered the funeral for the Warden who had given her life to end the Blight. "I can't say I'm really in the _mood_."

He flushed then, and Anora did not know if it was from embarrassment or anger or something else. She hadn't learned his tells yet; she would.

"Accompany me to the royal suite, then, but only just," she suggested. The Dalish girl had let her keep her throne and her life, so Anora could make allowances for this small request. "We can part ways there, but we should present a united front while in public."

His eyes widened, as if he'd only just realized that his life was no longer his own. "Do we have to jump up and down on the bed, as well?" he asked. "Rumple the sheets and make loud groaning noises?"

"No..." she said. He smiled impishly, an expression that was probably meant to amuse her, and she forced a smile in return.

Anora had been warned that Alistair was a bit... unfinished. That had been Teagan's choice of words; others were less generous. He clearly thought himself hilarious. In her own estimation, Alistair was blithe, but she could see he wore his flippancy as an armor. For what, she wasn't sure yet.

-o-

Anora stared at herself in the mirror. Maker, when did her pores get so big? She scrubbed her face and reapplied her makeup carefully. She did not enjoy being new to someone, that feeling of being appraised, and being found wanting. Alistair was so much younger than her.

It had been a mistake to humor him that first night. Since then Alistair had come up with a series of increasingly elaborate excuses to avoid being alone with her; she couldn't begin to guess where he had been sleeping. The King was playing some sort of game, but Anora didn't know the rules, and she was quite tired of it. With a sigh, she re-braided her blonde hair and decided to dispense with subtlety.

She found him sitting behind a tree in the gardens, fiddling with a worry token in his hands. She resisted the urge to snatch the token away and toss it into the nearest fountain.

"Husband," Anora said, catching him off guard. "We need to have sex. Now."

Alistair was startled, and he looked up, blushing. He cleared his throat. "I see," he said. "Is there some rush?"

"It's been three days, Alistair," she said, trying to sound calm. Anora placed her hands on her hips and regarded him. She thought about telling him about his duty to produce an heir, to consummate their marriage, to stabilize a country ripped apart by war, but all that was probably over his head, so she said only, "It's just what people do."

At this, he drew a sharp breath and looked at the sky. "Well, the thing is, uh," he said, tripping over his own tongue, "the thing is that I, well, don't. Haven't yet, I mean. And you're a little… well, to be quite frank, Anora, you're a little bit intimidating."

She blinked at him. He was wearing his honest face, that infuriating combination of slack jaw and wide eyes that meant he was about to tell everyone so much more than they needed to know, and there was no reason not to believe him.

"But you're a soldier," she said weakly. She realized she had concocted a fantasy about this in her head, as if owning a sword meant that a man had a running tab at every whorehouse from here to West Hills. She should know better than to make assumptions. Still, there had been the Dalish girl, and Anora frowned. "What about the Warden? I thought-"

"Me and Nya?" He laughed, an artless sound that sent spasms up her back. "No. I mean, not that I wasn't interested, but ah… well… Nya wasn't. Interested, I mean."

"In you?" Anora asked. She could sympathize.

"In me," Alistair agreed. "In love in general. In any sort of happiness." He sighed, and a darkness passed behind his eyes as he remembered her. "Nya was sort of damaged."

"I see," Anora said, and then, "I'm sorry."

Alistair smiled at her, and Anora scowled. Why was _she_ apologizing? He should be apologizing to her; she was the one trading down. It had been ages since Anora had to hold a man's hand and pretend he was doing a great job. She shuddered. The thought of going through that again made her feel impossibly old.

She crossed her arms over her chest and said, "Well. I can assure you, it's not that complicated."

"Wow, Anora," Alistair said, snorting. "Be still my heart."

She huffed, loudly. _Biddable enough_ , she remembered: those were the words she'd used to describe him. Not by half. "I was unaware that I had to woo you," she said. "Alistair, this is humiliating. We're already married. Do you want me to make small talk? Buy you flowers? Take you out to dinner?"

He shrugged. "Okay."

"I wasn't…!" Anora sighed. Cailan had never been this difficult. "Very well."

-o-

"So we find this sad little hovel, and this creepy guy answers the door, and he's going on about travelers and vantages and honestly I had no idea what he was trying to tell us. Then all of a sudden he says, 'Witness Gaxkang!' and he turns into a revenant and Nya was literally so surprised she started choking. Ohgren had to wack her with his axe handle."

Anora had arranged for them to share a meal in the private dining room, and now they were having what passed as a conversation, she thought, for Alistair.

"We fought for a long time, and he changed shape a couple more times, but then Leliana shot him in the face and we won." He smiled, nibbling at a forkful of roast chicken. "That was probably the weirdest fight we had. That, or the time we killed a giant ogre zombie. Did I tell you about that, yet?"

" _Yes_." Anora gritted her teeth and spun her wine glass in her hand. She thought about breaking it in half and stabbing him with it, but then she decided that would be a waste of good wine, and drank it.

He was very much like Cailan, she thought, daffy and buoyant and thoroughly stupid. Anora had indulged Cailan, more than that, for years, but Alistair was not Cailan. He had not spent a lifetime jumping to the snap of her fingers, or trusting her with his country, or reaching out to her in his sleep with hands she had known since childhood. He was only a collection of similar shortcomings, wearing her dead husband's face.

"Oh, sorry." The chicken was gone, and he had a biscuit in his hands. It was his third or fourth; the man had an appetite for food, at least. "Why don't you talk, then? Tell me about yourself."

"Ah. Well." Anora rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers. She wasn't sure how much more of this she could take. "My favorite color is red. I like to read history and I enjoy needlecraft. And, oh! For the past six years, I have been the Queen of Ferelden, by way of arranged marriages to a couple of nitwitted Kings. The latter of whom speaks with his mouth full, like a common stablehand." She folded and unfolded her napkin in her lap. "Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

Alistair dropped the biscuit and glowered at her. "How I've managed to resist your charms, woman, I can't imagine." He ran his tongue over his teeth self-consciously, swallowing conspicuously before he answered. "I don't know. Tell me about your childhood."

"My childhood." He should have had the sense to avoid that topic, she thought, but then Alistair didn't seem to have much sense at all. She felt heat rising up the back of her neck. "As for that, I was raised in the castle at Gwaren, by my father, Loghain Mac Tir. You remember, he was the national hero whose head you so _gleefully_ demanded at the Landsmeet."

Silence smothered them like a shroud. This was an impolite dinner conversation, and her husband was gaping at her.

Anora chewed her lip. "Ah… apologies, your Majesty." It was not like her to lose her temper like that. She clenched her hands together under the table and stared down at them, avoiding his eyes. "I didn't mean… ugh. Listen, I don't blame you for what happened to my father. Quite the contrary. It was a horrible thing for me to witness, as… as a daughter, but it was necessary for the strength of the nation. Forgive my outburst."

"No, it's fine," he said quickly. Their eyes met across the table for a moment before Alistair dropped his gaze. "It's brilliant, actually. The anger makes you seem human."

It was no wonder he was a virgin. "I _am_ human."

"I know, and… I'm sorry." He picked up a spoon and pushed a pile of peas around his plate. "About your father. I'm not normally that… bloodthirsty." Alistair exhaled a long breath, and his voice had changed when he spoke again. "I've never had a family, not really, but the Grey Wardens, and Duncan… we shared the same blood."

He touched the pendant at his throat, and it occurred to Anora that she had never questioned why he still wore it. _I refuse to call this man a brother_ , he had said, as he condemned her father to die. At the time she had dismissed it as male posturing, and it infuriated her. Perhaps not.

"I acted out of vengeance, only, and I'm not proud of it," he said, watching her. "After what happened to Nya... well, I wonder if we should have maybe listened to Riordan."

The armor fell away for just a moment, and Anora watched the grief play, fresh and raw, across his face. Her eyes softened, and she fought back a sudden urge to grab his hand. He was not Cailan, she reminded herself. Although the similarity was there.

"I loved my husband," she admitted, quietly. She saw surprise in Alistair's eyes, and she ignored it. She didn't care if he believed her or not. "Despite his many flaws, Cailan was charming and kind, and I loved him. When I discovered that my father had…" Anora shook her head, her tightly bound hair shifting ever so slightly. "My father, the man who bounced me on his knee and showed me how to read a map when I was a girl. As you can imagine, my feelings in this area are… complicated."

A chuckle shook free of him, inappropriate and jarring, and she flinched. He _would_ laugh at her when she was exposed like that, the swine, and she decided right then that she hated him. Anora glared at him with all the contempt that she could muster.

Alistair was leaning back in his chair as he looked back at her. "Complicated," he agreed. "That's an understatement. Can we agree to take our time, then? Sort through our very complicated feelings?"

Anora smiled faintly. He didn't understand: their feelings had nothing to do with it.

The bastard started chatting again, about dwarven deshyrs, or some other nonsense. Anora nodded politely. Why couldn't they just blow out the lights, make babies, and then ignore each other, like a normal royal couple? Surely Empress Celene never had to coddle her consorts this way. Anora wished there was some way to get past Alistair's inhibitions without having to listen to him _speak_.

And he was _still_ speaking, prattling on about noble hunters or Antivans or his own damn navel. Anora closed her eyes. She would send Erlina hunting for potions in the morning. Maybe there was something she could slip him.

-o-


	2. Common

-o-

"Your Majesty," Erlina said, slightly out of breath as she pushed open the door to Anora's private study. "You're needed in the throne room immediately."

"Erlina. I have asked you to knock." Anora pushed her chair back from her desk to scowl at the elf. "People already gossip about how familiar we are. It wouldn't do if you caught me in a compromising position."

"In your _study_ , Anora?" Erlina asked, a grin pulling at the corner of her lips. "Now you have me curious. Was I likely to catch you dancing in your smallclothes?"

A servant should have been punished for such insolence, but Anora only rolled her eyes. She had very few friends and was much too permissive with this one. Erlina was not just her handmaid; she was her assistant, her confidant, and on some occasions, her spy. "What exactly is the emergency?"

Erlina grimaced. "It's the King, your Highness," she said. "You told me to tell you if... well... Eamon is asking him to make a decision."

Anora didn't ask what it was. Alistair was not supposed to make _any_ decisions. She brushed past the elf and hurried to the throne room, where she found Alistair sitting in Maric's chair, yet somehow completely unimposing, while Eamon and a retinue of attendants stood beneath him, dominating the room.

"What's this about?" Anora demanded, as she entered.

Eamon looked at her, startled. "Just paying a visit to my-"

"The Arl thinks we should choose a new Teyrn of Gwaren," Alistair said, not noticing the irritated look he earned from Eamon for interrupting him. "Apparently it's urgent? Eamon's been suggesting all these names, but I don't know most of them."

"Why didn't you call for me?" she asked, keeping her voice even. "I am _from_ Gwaren, you know. I have some thoughts on the matter."

Arl Eamon looked like he wasn't interested in her thoughts. King Alistair, on the other hand, regarded her expectantly.

"Bann Sighard," she said, without hesitation. She had anticipated the question the moment her father had been executed, and Sighard was the obvious choice. "He is a reliable man, and he supported you at Landsmeet. The teyrnir is an appropriate reward."

Alistair eased in his throne. "Thank you, Anora," he said. He looked at Eamon and said, "That sounds very reasonable, doesn't it?" Eamon shrugged, his mouth half open. Then Alistair waved his hand awkwardly and said, "Um... make it so. Or whatever it is I'm supposed to say when I decree things."

Anora smiled. At least _that_ was easy. To her relief, it seemed Ferelden had traded one puppet king for another, and she was happy to keep her hands on the strings. She glanced at the Arl and flashed her teeth at him. Eamon glared back at her. Evidently Sighard had not been his choice, and she took some pleasure in thwarting him.

Eamon took his leave of them with a quick bow, then he and his aides swept out of the room. Anora approached the throne and curtsied.

"Thank you for listening to me, your Majesty," she said, her eyes lowered. "You can consult me any time you need assistance with a decision." All of them, preferably.

"Of course," he replied. He was smiling at her, so she smiled back at him. "And I will. I don't actually have any idea what I'm doing." He looked off to the side, then back at her, and added, "Honestly, I've never been clear on what exactly a Teyrn does."

Alistair stood and retreated to the back of the throne room, where Cailan had kept a cabinet full of liquor. She followed him. "What's your poison?" he asked, as he glanced over the selection.

"The single malt," Anora said, indicating an old yellow bottle. They were all safe: she had decided that drugging him was probably beneath her. A little. For now. As Alistair poured two glasses and began to add ice, she stopped him. "Straight up, if you please."

"Really?" He laughed and handed it to her. "I don't know why I'm surprised. You're a tougher man than I am." She sipped the liquor and enjoyed the warm glow of numbness that spread to her fingertips. Alistair put his own glass to his lips and swallowed, his face puckering. Not much of a drinker, she noted, and filed that for future reference.

She took a deep breath. "Did you want to-"

"I think we should-" he said, just as she started to speak. They both fell silent, and he waved at her. "I'm sorry. What did you want to say?"

"It wasn't important," she said, raising her eyebrows. "You?"

"I think we should maybe sleep together," he said. When Anora looked a little too pleased, he raised a hand and said, "When I say sleep, I mean sleep. I seem to have developed hay fever in my old age." Alistair sniffled theatrically, to prove this point. He said, "I don't think I can survive another night in the stables."

Anora's eyes widened. "Is that where you've been?" she asked, laughing a little, in spite of herself. "No wonder I couldn't find you." She cocked her head to the side and said, "You are aware that you're the King?"

"The stables are very familiar!" he protested. "With the hay and the manure and the lack of self respect. It's like coming home." He smiled his artless smile. "However, as you've pointed out, it's probably not the best thing for my image, so... I thought I should try sleeping in my own bed. With my wife." He paused, chewing his lip, then asked, "If that's alright with you?"

Anora shrugged. It was a step in the right direction, anyway.

-o-

"I need a nightgown, Erlina," Anora said, as she entered her chambers and plunked herself down in front of her vanity. "Please be a dear and fetch me one."

Her handmaid was surprised. "You don't usually wear one in the summer," she said, as she handed her mistress a bowl of warm water and a towel.

"I know, and it's very hot," she said, sighing, "but I think the King would die of fright if he saw a breast. Something modest."

Erlina's eyebrows jumped up her forehead. "You mean he's going to sleep here tonight?" she asked. She smiled warmly. "That's a relief. All the servants are talking about it, you know. You haven't even-"

"Arg! Don't you _dare_ say it." Anora wet the towel and began washing her face, carefully removing the shadow from around her eyes. "He's being very difficult." She sighed heavily. "Erlina, he's a virgin. A virgin in his _twenties_ who is being entirely too choosy."

"Really?" Erlina asked. She frowned. "But he's a soldier...?"

"I know!"

Anora turned back to her mirror as Erlina stepped out of the room. She unbound her hair and it fell down her back with a heavy thump. With an ivory hairbrush she combed out each of the braids. Her hair was soft and wavy when she finished, and it reached the seat of her stool.

When Erlina returned, she was holding a long sleeved cotton nightgown with a high collar. Anora laughed. "Not _that_ modest," she said. "I'm his wife, not his grandmother."

"Just checking," Erlina said, with a smile, and she pulled out a silk shift with a scoop neck in a pretty shade of green.

"Thank you," Anora said. She stood and held out her arms. Erlina unlaced the back of her dress, and she stepped out of it, then held up her hands and let her handmaid slip the nightgown over her head. It was cut on the bias, and the fabric skimmed her curves gracefully.

"I don't think Alistair is so difficult, your Majesty," Erlina said, behind her. "He seems like the kind of man who will fall in love with the first pretty girl who's the least bit nice to him." She peaked around Anora's shoulder and added, "So you could try that. Being the least bit nice to him."

"Does that sound like something I know how to do?"

There was a knock at the door. Anora rolled her eyes. Alistair would knock, as if he were a visitor in his own bedroom. Maybe he could teach the practice to Erlina. Anora stood and waved irritably at the elf, who curtsied to Anora and said, "I'll leave you, then." Erlina opened the door and bowed to the King as she left.

Alistair entered. He was dressed head to toe in royal finery and moved uncomfortably, as if the weight of it was unfamiliar. When he saw her standing there in her nightgown, his eyes slid over her appreciatively, in the unconscious way that men's eyes did. Anora smiled. That was somewhat reassuring. She was beginning to wonder if he had any sort of interest in women at all.

He cleared his throat. "You look pretty this way," he said, indicating her hair.

She blushed. Most women have something they hate about themselves, and for Anora it was her hair. "It gets frizzy," she mumbled. She grabbed a ribbon off her vanity and tied it in a quick knot at the back of her head.

He stepped towards her and leaned in to kiss her. She lifted her chin as he dove for her cheek, and he reconsidered, aiming for her mouth. His lips bumped into hers, not opening, as though he was trying to flatten them. She pulled away.

"Okay, then," he said. He clasped his hands together. "I, um, need to undress."

He squinted at her and waited. Anora sighed. She walked over to the bed, scowling at him, and climbed into it. She pulled the covers over her head. "There," she said, feeling more than a little silly. "I promise I won't peak."

She heard him shuffling around as he changed, then he grunted and snuffed their lantern. She pushed down the blanket. The moon was a sliver through the drawn curtains of the window, and the darkness was complete. She felt him crawl into bed beside her, as the mattress tilted heavily to the right. He kept carefully to his own side of the bed.

"Just so we're clear," Anora said, "This not touching thing is your idea. You can touch me. In fact, you can have sex with me, if you're so inclined. Because we are married, and that would be normal."

"Um... thanks," Alistair said. "That's very, uh, generous of you, but I'm not ready. Sorry."

She huffed. "As you please."

His breathing was heavy and even, and she thought he was asleep until he spoke again, suddenly. "Have you been to that stall in the Market District that sells tchotchkas?"

"The Orlesian woman with the poofy sleeves?"

"Yeah." The blankets pulled and the mattress shook a little, and she gathered Alistair had turned on his side to face her. "They're already selling plates with my face on them. Ceramic plates. For little old ladies to collect, or something. Or maybe for angry people to break, I don't know." He paused for a minute, and Anora wondered if he was actually talking about plates. He said, "They turned those out fast."

"Don't be too impressed," she told him. "The ones I've seen are actually leftover Cailan plates. They just repainted your hair."

"Oh." He grunted, a sort of half laugh, and for once the sound didn't bother her. She rolled on her side to face him. Her eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and she could make out the vague outline of him beside her. It was too familiar, and she closed her eyes.

He coughed. "Can I ask you an... indelicate question?"

 _No_ , Anora thought immediately, but she swallowed hard and said, "You can always ask me anything, husband."

"Why didn't you and Cailan have any children?"

Anora balked. That was much more than indelicate. "It wasn't for lack of trying, if that's what you're suggesting," she snapped. Alistair made an indecipherable noise, and she continued. "Cailan was never so... hesitant. With me, or, well, anything. Still, in five years, we were unable to conceive."

She heard it whispered among the lesser nobles when they thought she was out of earshot, the ugly words that she was not meant to hear. Barren. Fallow. Cursed by the Maker. Five years without an heir, and of course everyone assumed it was her fault, not his. Never mind that in all his trying, Cailan had not fathered a child on one of his mistresses, either.

Anora winced and pulled the sheets tight around her, feeling pain pushing at her temples at the memory of their disappointment. "I was checked by several healers," she said, "and they all agreed I was sound. It just seemed that we were not compatible, for some reason."

Alistair was silent for a moment, considering this information. "That's not good," he said. "It might not work for us, either, then. Cailan and I have a lot in common... I mean, in terms of our heritage."

Yes, she had noticed that. "But I think he got it from Rowan," she said. "In ten years, she and Maric only had one child. Whereas I understand your mother got knocked up on the first go."

He fell silent again, and she imagined he was blushing. It was altogether too easy to embarrass him. She smiled to herself.

"You're an only child, too," he observed.

"Ah, yes, but that's for another reason." He waited for her to continue, but her mouth snapped shut and that was the end of it. Anora did not want to talk about her father's affections with anyone, least of all with Alistair. She didn't know why she'd brought it up.

Alistair shifted his weight beside her, lying on his back again. "I have one more question."

She sighed. "Yes?"

"Before the Landsmeet. When we came to rescue you." She heard him swallow. "You got us thrown in prison."

"Ah. That." Anora chewed her lip. She had wondered when he would bring that up, and was surprised it had taken this long. "Yes, I did," she answered. "That's not actually your question though, is it?" Alistair did not respond, was clearly not amused, and she sighed. "I didn't plan for that to happen. When I asked Nya to liberate me, I hardly expected her to raise such a ruckus that she would alert the entire army." She frowned. "I thought she was more subtle than that."

Alistair snorted. "Well, sometimes." After a pause, he said, "But you betrayed us. You told Cauthrien we were there to kidnap you."

"Yes. Sorry. Not my finest moment." Anora remembered the panic she had felt when they had stumbled upon Cauthrien and her legion of guards. And then that stab of hope, the nasty twist in her stomach that made her turn on them. "There were a lot of reasons," she said, "but the simple explanation is that I was afraid."

"Of Howe?" Alistair sounded dubious.

"No," she admitted. "Being trapped in a tiny room was tremendously boring, but I never really thought he was crazy enough to kill me." She paused, and Alistair waited for her. "I was afraid of you."

"Of me?" he asked, surprised. "But I-"

"I knew you would win eventually, Alistair." The warmth of his body reached her through the blankets, and she shifted away from him; it was too hot. "I was the Queen, but you were Maric's son, the last heir of Calenhad the Great. What claim did I have over that?"

"So you had me locked up." She could hear anger crowding into his voice, the deadly self-righteousness that had persuaded the Warden to slay her father. "You value your throne that highly?"

"I value my _life_ that highly, yes," she spat back. Everyone does, she told herself. She moved to her back again and crossed her arms over her chest. "I did not think I would survive your coronation. Any sane person would have had me executed."

"Oh." His thoughts were so loud she could practically hear the gears grinding. Anora held her breath, and after a while he said, "Lucky for you, I'm a total nutter."

A wry smile colored his words, and it seemed she was forgiven. Anora laughed out loud. "That you are," she agreed. "Although I don't know how lucky that makes me, at this point. _Husband_."

He adjusted his pillow and settled down to sleep. "I'm sorry," he said, reaching out with a clumsy finger to poke her on the arm. "I know this is weird."

" _You're_ weird," she returned, before she could stop herself. It was possible his idiocy was contagious.

He laughed again, his full-bodied, woodsy laugh. Anora laughed a little, too. He was so common, she thought. Alistair had a common sense of a humor and a common sort of sweetness. He had probably grown up expecting to fall in love.

Well, _too bad_ , she thought crossly, as she rolled away from him and closed her eyes to sleep. Anora did not know how to be lovable, she did not intend to learn, and she certainly wasn't about to fall in love with _him_.

-o-


	3. Ghosts

-o-

The Dalish Keeper was a problem. Anora could handle Arl Bryland, as the noble's needs were easy enough to anticipate, but Lanaya had a will that she didn't understand, and their negotiations were going nowhere. The Queen appreciated that the Dalish had helped Ferelden during the Blight, but she did not enjoy being in the Lanaya's debt. Anora pinched the bridge of her nose and silently wished the Archdemon had eaten her.

"You think I'll _accept_ this?" Lanaya demanded, as if Anora had just threatened to drown her hallas in a lake, and not offered her clan a piece of real estate that seven different Banns were begging to own.

"I'm being very generous," Anora insisted.

"Actually, you're being a royal _bitch_ ," Lanaya hissed.

Anora sighed. She had often found that dealing with another woman was more difficult for her than dealing with a man. Flattening her hands against the round table between them, she stared at her opponent. The Keeper looked back at her with bright, flashing eyes, and was as intractable and difficult as Anora herself.

"Be reasonable, Lanaya," someone said, and Anora was surprised to notice that it was Alistair. He had been staring silently into space throughout the discussion, and she had not thought he was even listening. The Keeper turned her narrowed gaze on him. "We're offering you your own land," he said. "That's something the Dalish haven't had in seven hundred years."

Lanaya leaned over the table, facing him. "But Alistair," she said, neglecting to use his title, "The land at Ostagar is tainted and overrun with ghosts. Ghosts of _your_ fallen comrades, angry ghosts, men betrayed by the father of this _shem_ woman." She shot a disparaging look at Anora, which was returned in kind. "How can you expect us to live there?"

"Those ghosts are lonely. I'm sure they'd appreciate your company." Alistair's eyes sparkled, and he touched her hand in a familiar way. The elven woman didn't pull away, and Anora realized that they knew each other from his life before.

"Nya used to say that home is wherever you pitch your tent," he said, "and that made sense, because that's the way you live your life. I've had it both ways, though, so trust me when I tell you that a home is much nicer when it has a food cellar, and a roof, and proper drainage."

The King was a font of earnestness, and Lanaya was drinking it up. Anora watched him curiously. He added, "You could build that at Ostagar."

Still Lanaya resisted; her heels were dug in and it was hard to pull them out. She glanced at Anora, unwilling to give ground. A sweetener was necessary. Anora said, "I can send you craftsmen, as well, to help you with construction."

Lanaya's eyes widened. Anora could see her pride battling with the practicality of this offer; in the end, common sense won. "Very well," she said. "We accept these terms, as long as the Arl agrees."

Anora looked to Bryland, who made a startled choking sound. "I'm not thrilled with the idea of Dalish neighbors," he admitted, "but it beats losing men to your arrows. South Reach accepts this compromise."

Lanaya and Bryland bowed to each other, and then they each bowed to the King, and there were handshakes all around. An agreement was reached, tensions were eased, and the Arl and the Keeper strode out of the room, each very happy with themselves.

When they were alone, Anora turned to Alistair and said, "I didn't realize that you knew her."

"Not very well," he said, nodding, "but we helped her clan during the Blight." He looked at Anora sheepishly. "I know you don't want me to do anything, but I thought I should..."

"No, it's fine. You did well." His face lit up, responding to her slight praise as if she had just told him he was the best negotiator in all of Thedas. Anora shrugged and said, "I have trouble with women."

Alistair laughed. "Well, me too!" She laughed back, because she thought truer words had never been spoken by anyone, ever, and Alistair grinned, happy to have amused her. They were laughing together, she realized.

Then he looked at his hands and said, "Nya thought I was..."

Alistair's expression darkened suddenly, as it always did when he spoke of the dead Warden, and the smile died on his lips. Anora cleared her throat and cut him off.

"Right," she said, with a quick shake of her head. "Well. Anyway. It's nice to know you aren't completely useless."

-o-

In the dark of the night, Anora awoke to the sound of crying. She snapped her eyes open, afraid, before she remembered that she had not gone to bed alone. The King was lying beside her, absolutely still, sniveling softly to himself. Anora held her breath and listened, unsure of what to do.

"Alistair," she said carefully, "is something wrong?"

As if her words had unlocked something inside him, a flood of tears opened up, and her husband began to bawl uncontrollably. Between wracking sobs, he asked, "Why do I keep getting left behind?" His voice came in shaky jerks.

Hot, messy emotions were spilling out of his face, and Anora shifted uncomfortably. She was unaccustomed to the idea that men cried. She had never seen Cailan cry, not even at Maric's funeral, and she had only seen Loghain cry once. She had been seven years old, and the memory of her stoic father in tears still made her feel helpless.

"I don't know," she said.

Her voice seemed to reassure him a little. Anora flinched as he used their sheets as a handkerchief, wiping his snot all over the imported silk. "Seeing Lanaya..." he said, sniffling as he stopped crying. "It brought up some... memories."

Anora knew he didn't mean memories of the Keeper. "Of Nya," she said.

When Alistair didn't respond, Anora felt she should do... something. She reached for him uncertainly, her fingers finding the crest of his arm. Her husband accepted that barest hint of an embrace and yielded it to it eagerly, rolling over and pressing his face into her shoulder, the length of him folded up against her side. Anora grunted, startled at the sudden intimacy.

"She didn't give me the chance to save her," Alistair said, into her neck. "She left me behind when she went to Fort Drakon. She said she wanted me to be King, and that I shouldn't risk my life, but..." His voice trailed off, and his body shook from crying. "I don't think she wanted to live." He took a deep, shaky breath, and Anora felt the warm steam of it wetting the strap of her nightgown. "She knew I wouldn't have let her kill herself. That I would have died for her."

Anora's fingertips found the back of his head, and she pressed her fingers into his hair. She remembered her father's tears, and then later, the unexpected realization of why he had been crying. It had taken years for her to understand.

"You loved her," she said.

"I did." Anora could tell from the way he said it that he'd never admitted this out loud before. "And I thought she loved me, too, in her own way. We were... something. I don't know. I always thought she would open up, eventually, that she would trust me and we would be together." He sniffed again. "Even after she passed me off to you like... like _chattel_." He spat out that last word with surprising anger.

Anora smiled bitterly. It was strange that he thought of himself that way, when he was the King and she was the one who was expendable, but she thought she understood. "I'm sorry," she said.

"It's not your fault," he said, as if that mattered. "Look, I know you think I'm stupid. I know I'm being immature, and difficult. It's just..." Alistair paused again, pulling a breath through his teeth. "I know it doesn't make sense, but I always thought my first time would be with her."

His first love, and first disappointment. Anora felt a cold apprehension building in her chest.

"Not me," she said. Alistair lay still beside her, the sound of his breathing shallow and raspy. She swallowed. "If it would make you more comfortable, you can be with someone else first. I don't care." His hand closed on her arm and tightened. Anora drew a sharp breath; it hurt a little. "It doesn't have to be with me."

He lifted himself on his elbow. In the darkness, the bulk of him loomed over her as she felt his eyes on her face. Something had switched over in him, beyond the reach of her understanding. His hand crept down her arm.

"I think it does," he said, his voice low. He leaned in to kiss her.

Anora tensed reflexively when his lips touched hers. Alistair drew back. "Is it okay?" he asked.

She managed a smile. "Of course," she said, but her voice cracked. Then he was kissing her again, his hands pulling at her nightgown, sliding up the skin of her torso, grasping.

Inevitably, she thought of Cailan. The last time they were together had been the night before he left for Ostagar. Anora remembered his confidence, the way he'd smiled and assured her that everything would be fine. She remembered his arms around her waist, lifting her up to him, as he buried his face in her hair. Alistair's hands pinned her shoulders to the bed and suddenly he was inside her.

"Maker," he breathed, and Anora winced.

She had never counted the months since Cailan died, but she felt each of them then, and she pulled inwards, making her thoughts thin. All at once Alistair was not hesitant. He worked all his sadness and resentment into waves, crashing over her. Anora whimpered. A name bubbled up in her throat, and she bit her lip to keep from saying the wrong one. Tension gave way to something else, testing her defenses, and she stopped breathing. Then he shuddered and it was over.

Alistair held himself over her, and she stared up at him, but it was too dark to see his face. After a moment he fell to the bed and didn't speak. They lay there silently, two bodies separated from each other by an ocean of nothing, as the seconds crawled by like hours.

"Thanks..." she said eventually, because she thought she should say something. When he didn't answer, Anora hoped that meant he was asleep. She exhaled. It was done, and she was relieved. She had not expected it to begin with tears.

She realized then that she had never cried herself, not for her father, and not for Cailan, and Anora began to weep.

-o-


	4. Everything is Fine

-o-

Anora woke up alone and was glad of it. Alistair would probably want to talk about their interlude, but she didn't know what she could say about it. She stretched her arms over her head and sighed.

She didn't really remember what it had been like with Cailan at the beginning, but she did not think it had ever been this strange. It was hard to be sure. Her memories of him had collapsed into a single package in her thoughts, and she couldn't always pull apart the separate moments any more.

The door edged open, and Alistair snuck into the room, fully clothed and wide awake. Anora rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and checked the window, confirming it was barely dawn. He froze when he saw her move. "Hey," he said cautiously.

Anora sat up, yawning. "Good morning," she replied.

He coughed. "You're awake."

She blinked at him. "As are you."

Alistair kept his back carefully to the wall. Anora wondered if he thought she might do something to him if he turned his back on her, or if this was just a warrior's reflex in times of stress. Either way, it was very strange. It could never have been this strange with Cailan, she decided. He glanced at her as he knelt to pull on his boots. "I'm going riding," he explained.

"Right now?" She looked at him more closely and asked, "Why?"

His eyes didn't quite meet hers, but lingered somewhere around her chin. He tied his laces with a firm tug. "Because I'm restless, and it's a beautiful day."

"Fine," she said.

"Great," he said.

Anora frowned. "You're not going alone, I hope?"

"I'm taking Nya's dog," he said. "And the Keening Blade."

The Keening Blade was the King's favorite sword. It was enchanted, and when wielded it made a weeping sound like a... well, like a person of either gender, apparently. He always spoke of it like it was a person, but it most definitely was not one. Anora gaped at him.

Alistair laughed. "I'll be fine, Anora," he said. "I've slain a high dragon. What could possibly threaten me in the forests of Denerim?"

 _What could possibly happen to me?_ Cailan had asked, when she'd expressed concern. _They'd have to kill every single Grey Warden in Ferelden to get to me. I'll be fine._ This before he'd been ripped apart by an ogre. Anora closed her eyes tightly. "You have to bring guards, Alistair," she insisted. "You're the King now."

"Well, if you think it's so important, you get them," he said, as he breezed out of the room. "I'll try to survive until they arrive."

Anora groaned. By saying that, of course, he'd just made it her responsibility if he went and got himself killed. She forced herself out of bed and found some acceptable clothes, pulling them on as fast as she could. Before she followed after him, she ran a comb quickly through her hair, gritting her teeth as it caught in her tangles.

-o-

"You came," Alistair said, when she found him in the stables. His voice lifted on the last word, and she wasn't sure if that meant he was happy to see her, or scared, or just surprised. Anora couldn't help but think that, no, she hadn't, actually, but she kept that to herself, and smiled faintly.

"You really shouldn't go out alone," she said. "Your honor guard will be here shortly."

Alistair nodded. He started to speak, but her eyes met his and he lost his train of thought. He bit his lip. "Why don't you join me?" he suggested.

The tendons of her shoulders tightened. "If it pleases you," she said, feeling outmaneuvered.

He had very large hands, she thought, as they stood there assaying each other. Her eyes fell to his sword, resting silently in its scabbard. It looked rather unremarkable when the glowing blade was hidden.

Alistair broke the silence, clearing his throat as he rested his hands on the stall in front of him and nodded at the large sorrel horse inside. "This is my horse," he told her. Anora crossed her arms over her chest and regarded the animal obligingly, as Alistair put his hand through the bars of the stall door to pat the sorrel's nose. "I made friends with him when I was sleeping here. His name is Captain Thunderhooves."

Anora glanced at him. "I really think it isn't."

"Maybe it wasn't before," Alistair said, shrugging, "but I'm the King, so it's definitely his name now."

Hearing the sound of footsteps behind her, Anora turned and saw the honor guard she'd summoned had arrived. The leader, Ser Horace, bowed stiffly to her. She nodded back at him, keenly aware that she was without her makeup.

"Please saddle Bellezza for me," she said, holding her chin steady, "and his Majesty will be riding, uh, that one."

Ser Horace gestured to two of the guards, who began to prepare the horses. Anora placed her hand on Alistair's arm and guided him out of the way. He shifted his shoulders, wriggling, until her hand slid down his arm, and then he wordlessly took her hand in his. She sighed and left it there.

Bellezza was a dappled gray mare with white fetlocks and a small white star in the center of her forehead. She had been a gift from the Queen of Antiva some years ago and was a creature of exceptional breeding and temperament. Alistair's horse, on the other hand, was a warhorse of mixed blood. His legs were too long for his body, and his mane was in desperate need of trimming. He skittered away from the guard who tried to saddle him.

"You can see why I like him," Alistair said, as the horse butted his head into the guard's chest and knocked him back on his heels before yielding, standing still as a saddle was finally placed on his back. As he was led out, the sorrel whinnied. It sounded like a laugh, and Alistair chuckled. "I think we have a lot in common."

"Do you now?" Anora asked, laughing a little. She examined the horse. "That's very interesting, Alistair. Did you know that Captain Thunderhooves is a gelding?"

Alistair flinched, and she regretted the jibe immediately, but there wasn't any way to take it back. She flushed, feeling out of control, but Alistair turned it into a laugh. "Yes..." he drawled. "And it's really remarkable that he reached his current rank, despite his handicap."

"You're hilarious," she said, rolling her eyes as she smiled slightly. She shook her hand free and reached up to straighten her hair. It was difficult without a mirror, and she floundered.

"Here, let me help you," he said, as he stepped behind her and grabbed fistfuls of her hair in his fingers. She moved to stop him, but he had already split her locks into three pieces and started to pass them through each other deftly, and she dropped her hands.

"Why do you know how to braid hair?" she asked.

Alistair grunted. "I'd rather not say," he said. That only made her more curious, but for once Alistair was not sharing. Anora stared ahead of her, stiffening her neck, as he pulled on her hair, tugging her gently from side to side. Her scalp tingled as he worked the braid down her back. "It's done," he said, after a few moments. "I can't do your fancy bun things, though. I'm not quite that much of a girl."

Anora ran her hands down the plait. "This is fine," she said, as she tied the end off with a ribbon. She took a deep breath and managed to relax a little.

When Bellezza was ready, Anora took the reins from the guard and placed her foot in the stirrup, swinging easily into the saddle. She watched as Alistair tried to copy her, failed, and then tried again. A guard offered him his hands, and Alistair finally made it onto the horse's back.

Poor horsemanship ran in the family, apparently. Anora smiled to herself. She clucked to her mare and they stepped outside, Alistair and Captain Thunderhooves in tow.

Nya's mabari was napping on a pile of hay outside the stables. Alistair slapped his hand against his leg and whistled. "Pain, get up, boy," he called. The dog lifted his head. "Come on, Pain. We're heading out."

The dog shook himself as he got to his feet and trotted up to Alistair, following along beside him as they walked out of the courtyard and out onto the path that led into the forest, a section reserved for royal hunting parties. The honor guard, now on horseback, followed behind them at a distance. Anora turned to Alistair, eyebrow cocked.

"The dog's name is Pain?" she asked, bemused. "Is that meant to inspire fear, or pity?"

"I don't really know," Alistair said, shrugging. "Nya named him." He gave her a lop-sided grin. "I think I may have mentioned, but Nya was a bit of a mess."

"Oh." Anora's shoulders hunched inwards as she stared steadily between Bellezza's twitching ears. She felt a flush crawling up behind her ears. "That... came up, yes."

Alistair froze, realizing what he'd said. She felt his eyes on her and evaded them. He took a deep breath and pushed his horse closer to hers. "Anora... um... about last night."

Anora tensed again, feeling heat in the pit of her stomach. She still didn't know what to say. Alistair's gelding nickered to her mare and pressed his face into the other horse's neck, but her husband was silent. He didn't seem to know what to say, either.

Eventually he settled on, "Are we okay?"

Anora frowned. "I'm honestly not sure what you're asking me."

"I just..." Alistair looked down at the ground, finding Pain, and he watched the mabari scamper along beside them for a moment. "It was kind of a big deal for me," he said. "For us. And I guess it was something like I expected, in some ways, but in other ways, it... wasn't."

Anora huffed and looked away from him. "You are a poet, your Majesty," she said. "We should turn your words into a sonnet, truly. A love song for the ages."

"Please don't make fun of me right now. I'm afraid I've spoiled everything." His voice was soft and open. Alistair wrapped the excess length of the reins around his wrist and watched her.

Anora sighed. "We're fine, Alistair," she said, turning back to him. "Everything is fine." He relaxed a little, and she pointed at his hands. "You shouldn't tie yourself up like that. You'll get into trouble if your horse bolts."

"Right." Alistair dropped the reins and rearranged them properly, fitting his thumbs into the leather, as his gelding tossed his head, annoyed. He looked up into the trees, smelling the forest air. She looked up too, watching the light play between the leaves. The two horses fell into stride together, walking at a leisurely pace.

Alistair turned to her and took a deep breath. "Anora," he said. "I have to ask..."

Anora cringed. She had hoped they were done talking about this, but then, it was always a mistake to assume Alistair was done talking. "Yes?"

"When you said I could be with someone else, and you said you didn't care..." His face twisted into an expression she didn't recognize. "Did you mean that?"

"Of course." She swallowed and clucked to her mare, wondering if a change of pace would make the conversation go away. "I don't pretend that we're in love, Alistair."

He flicked his reins, urging Captain Thunderhooves to keep up with her, and opened his mouth slowly. He was about to say something _indelicate_ , she could tell, and Anora braced herself. "Did Cailan ever..." he began.

She sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it with you," she said, "but yes, Cailan had dalliances."

He considered this. "Well," he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. "I won't."

Anora laughed. "You say that now," she said, "but eventually you will grow up, I'm sure, and you will learn someday that you actually enjoy sex. I have it on good authority that most men do." Alistair blushed at this, and she smiled. "You will also learn that there are lots of pretty young women that enjoy having it with the King, in all sorts of interesting ways, and you may change your mind."

He sat up straighter in his saddle and shook his head. "I don't think I will," he said, looking decidedly disturbed. She felt his eyes burning holes into her skin. "Would you?" he asked. She turned to glare at him. "With someone else, I mean."

"Goodness, no, and if I did, I certainly wouldn't tell you about it." She glanced over her shoulder at the guards while Alistair stared at her. She raised an eyebrow and said, "Since it's treason?"

He seemed confused at the double standard, and she sighed again. There was still so much he didn't know. "You are the King," she explained. "You're the one with royal blood. I'm just a vessel. If I were to couple with another, it confuses the issue of your heirs." He nodded, his eyes wide. She added, "I could be hanged."

"Oh!" Then after a bit, he said, "That's not really fair, is it?"

"Life is hardly ever _that_ , your Majesty."

He frowned as he mulled over all of this new information. Pain barked at a rabbit, and after checking back at them, the dog raced after it, running far ahead. Alistair looked at her, his hazel eyes sparkling with sincerity. "I won't," he said again. Anora looked away.

-o-


	5. Charming and Dashing

-o-

Anora sat at her desk in her study, searching desperately for a solution. There was nothing new under the sun, she reminded herself. This was something she knew as a student of history, and she thought that if she thumbed through enough books and records and personal accounts of similar situations, she would find a way to resolve the problem in the alienage.

She was trying not to think about her other problem.

Alistair's promises of fidelity might have been flattering if she could believe them at all. Of course he would think that way, fresh out of the gate like he was. Give him a year and he would be throwing himself at every pretty maid who batted their eyelashes at him. Anora sighed. He had taken to sleeping elsewhere again, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do next. It was all very confusing.

As if sensing her thoughts, Alistair appeared, plowing into her study and unsettling everything in his wake. His clothes were soaked in places and his skin was flushed and splotchy.

Anora cleared her throat. "You look a fright," she said, checking him over.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I was just sparring with Ser Horace." He peered at her desk, and Anora covered her papers with her hands; there was nothing private in them, but it was a nervous habit. Alistair looked up at her face. "I was on my way to wash up, saw the light, and I realized I hadn't said 'hello' to you today. I thought I should." He coughed. "So... hello."

"Hello," she returned, relaxing a little. Despite his slipshod appearance, it was something of a relief to see him. At least he wasn't hiding.

"What are you working on?" he asked.

"I'm researching the alienage," she told him. "The situation there has gotten much worse. Between Vaughan, and the plague, and the... slaves." Thinking about the elven slaves made her think about the man who had arranged for their enslavement, and the way it felt to watch her father spiral out of control. Anora lost her train of thought.

Alistair leaned towards her and squeezed her shoulder. She closed her eyes and shook it off. "It's proving impossible to get them all back from Tevinter," she said, "and that news will not go over well. I'm trying to find a way to handle it."

The King seemed concerned. "Did you want any help?" he asked.

"Not at the moment," she said, "but I suppose I will want you there to talk to them, when the time comes. Valendrian is grooming a young woman to replace him, and she is rumored to be quite abrasive." Anora gave him a quick smile. "You can use that charm I keep hearing you have."

Alistair nodded. "Shianni," he said, grinning. "Yep. You're going to need me."

Anora regarded the ceiling. "King Alistair, tamer of disagreeable females."

"I'm not sure if you're complimenting me," he said, "or introducing me at a very interesting circus."

"It's a compliment. Don't let it go to your head."

"Okay." Alistair turned his hand over and started picking at his fingernails. "I know I've been rather self absorbed and annoying lately. It's one of my less flattering stages of grief. The love of my life, who never really loved me, died very tragically whilst saving the world without me, and I have not been coping so well." He exhaled heavily. "I'm sorry."

Anora sighed. "Well, I suppose I have goaded you a bit, too," she said. "I've been in a mood, and I apologize." She thumbed through her papers. "If you're going to stay, please sit down. You're making me nervous."

Alistair's smile reached his eyes. He took the invitation, and pulled a chair up opposite her. She watched him settle against the back, straining the spindles. "Maybe we should talk to Eamon about the elves," he suggested. "There's no alienage in Redcliffe, you know. Everybody just lives together and they all get along like peaches and cream."

Anora offered him a handkerchief, and he began to dab the sweat from his forehead. "I'm sure it's perfectly lovely," she said, "but it's not nearly as large as Denerim. Can we leave Eamon out of this, please?"

"You don't like him much, do you?"

"He tried to have me deposed, Alistair, so no, I don't like him at all. Imagine that." Anora rubbed her temples with the pads of her fingers. She did not appreciate the way Eamon was always hanging around the King, trying get his hands into her affairs. She scowled at her husband. "What I don't understand is why you are so in love with him. Didn't he ship you off to the Chantry when you were ten?"

"Yes. He took care of me for ten whole years." Alistair shrugged. "That is a lot of time to give to the child of your sister's husband's mistress."

"Mmm. It is _quite_ a long time to spend sleeping in the stables like a goat, and playing pageboy to his very irritating wife, who on occasion had you braid her hair." She smirked. "Anyone would be grateful."

Alistair's eyes widened. "How did you...?"

Anora smiled. "I have my sources," she said.

He spread his hands, as if none of that were particularly humiliating. Anora realized he was much more forgiving than she could ever be, which could have been sweet if it wasn't so inconvenient. She shook her head. "Why couldn't you have Teagan as your advisor?" she asked. "At least he's pleasant company."

To her bewilderment, Alistair burst out laughing. He placed his hands over his heart and jerked, as if shot, and said, "You too, eh? Oof. That hurts."

She stared at him blankly. He grinned and said, "Leliana and Nya were always giggling about how _pleasant_ Teagan was. And charming. And dashing." Alistair rolled his eyes and affected what Anora assumed was his best Orlesian falsetto. "And izn't it wonderful how he iz protecting zhe village from zombies? Oh, I wish to kiss zhe sweet apples of hiz cheeks and rip off all hiz poncey clothes."

Despite her best efforts, Anora felt a blush burning her face. "I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about," she demurred.

"Don't worry, dear. I won't have you hanged." Alistair laughed. "It's actually kind of cute." He smiled knowingly and said, "We all have our fantasies."

Anora shifted back in her chair. She didn't think she was ready to hear about his fantasies.

Alistair wilted. "I didn't mean..."

"No, of course not."

She watched him run his hand through his hair. It was especially disheveled from his previous exertions, and pieces of it stuck together under his fingers.

"Where do we go from here?" he asked. Anora frowned, confused. He swallowed nervously and continued. "Now that the whole consummation thing's been accomplished. Do we... I mean, do you have a specific quantity in mind, or something?"

Anora stared at him, her mouth half open in quiet horror. "No," she managed, after a while. "I don't have a sex quota."

" _Maker_. I-I shouldn't have said that. It's just that I...well, you did say some things to me that...never mind." Alistair sunk in his chair, blushing so furiously that she thought he might burst into flames. "I meant to say that _none_ is a perfectly appropriate amount, if that's what you'd like. You know I didn't actually, um..."

"...want to have sex with me?"

"Yes. I mean, _no_. Ugh." Alistair buried his face in his hands. "I am an idiot and I should not be allowed to talk to sentient beings."

Anora folded her arms over her chest. "You really should take a bath, Alistair," she said evenly. "You smell awful."

Alistair bit his lip. "That's...yes," he said. "I'll go...bathe...now." He looked at her, withering. "I'm really sorry. I don't understand how this is supposed to work."

"Good night, your Majesty." She returned to her papers as he shuffled out of the room.

Anora sighed. No amount of research was going to solve this problem, she realized. Her father had sold forty-five elves into slavery, and despite her tireless efforts, seventeen were lost forever to the Imperium. The best spin in the world could not cushion that blow, and coming from her, his daughter, it would be even worse.

It would be easier to hear these things from Alistair. He was a hero who had helped save their elder; he was someone they knew they could trust. Anora dropped her head to her desk. Maybe they should hash out a script first, just to be safe.

-o-

"Am I doing this right?"

Alistair's voice broke into her thoughts, and Anora shook herself and looked at her husband. "No," she said, evaluating him. "You have to hold your heels lower, and keep your back straighter. Hands just above the saddle horn. No, here." She shook her hands a little, showing him where to hold them. He still didn't quite hit it, and she furrowed her brow. "Captain Thunderhooves is walking all over you. You must learn to be more confident with him."

"Which is why I asked you to teach me." He gave her a sidelong glance as he adjusted his position in the saddle. "It wouldn't hurt if you paid a little more attention."

"I'm sorry, Alistair. You have caught me distracted."

Alistair looked back at the honor guard that followed close behind them. "I can ask Ser Horace to teach me instead, if you'd prefer," he suggested. "He and I are chums now."

Anora huffed. "I said I'd do it." Captain Thunderhooves tossed his head and nickered. Belezza answered back to him, and she patted her mare on the neck. She looked him over. "That's better," she said.

"Where did you go?" Alistair asked.

"I was just thinking about the dwarves," she told him. "King Bhelen has petitioned for deeper trade agreements, which I support, but the man is hard to trust."

Alistair nodded. "I told Nya not to pick him," he said. "Anyone can see Bhelen is a bad sort. He's cutthroat, and devious, and he will do anything for power." Alistair caught Anora's eyes and grinned. "He's not nearly as pretty as you are, though."

Anora laughed. "I have never killed my own brother," she said.

"Well, you didn't really have the chance, now did you?"

Anora huffed. "Did you want to try trotting again?"

"No! Are you kidding?" Alistair laughed, and Nya's mabari answered him with a bark, racing around his horse's legs. "Posting is impossible. I have no rhythm, Anora. Please don't ever ask me to dance."

"I would never presume, your Majesty."

Alistair laughed again. "Such a traditionalist." Then his head dropped suddenly. With a tug of the reins, his warhorse went eerily still. Alistair's eyes narrowed and she thought she saw him shiver.

"Darkspawn," he said, under his breath.

Anora pulled Bellezza to a halt. "You've lost me. What about them?"

The hair stood up along Pain's back, as the dog planted his feet and began to bark into the trees. Anora drew a sharp breath. "What, _here?_ " It didn't seem possible, not in their private sanctuary. "Are you serious?"

"Mm-hmm. Looks weird on me, doesn't it?" Anora felt the world spinning away from her as Alistair sat there and quipped. He wrinkled his nose, listening to the hum of his blood. "Just two of them. No, three." He looked over his shoulder at his guards and waved, shouting, "We've got company. Form up around the Queen."

Alistair handed her his reins and slid off his horse, tumbling to the ground. Anora heard a bloodcurdling howl, and her mare tossed her head and danced nervously. Her heart began to hammer in her chest. She thought of Cailan, and Cailan's ogre, and how it felt when she first saw Alistair in Cailan's armor at the Landsmeet. Her mouth went dry. She could never bring herself to ask how exactly that armor had been separated from her husband's body.

She could hear grunting then, and the cracking of tree branches as the monsters drew closer. The mounted guards surrounded them, swords drawn, pressing close around her. Her eyes widened as she looked down at Alistair, who had caught his balance and was peering into the trees.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice drawn tight.

"You can't expect me to fight on horseback," Alistair said, as he looked back at her with a raised eyebrow. "I can barely stay on when we're just walking."

She shook her head quickly. "Alistair. I don't expect you to fight at all. That's what the guards are for."

"But I'm..." When he gestured at one of the guards, the soldier handed him his shield and Alistair slung it over his arm. "Darkspawn blood is poisonous," he said. "These men could be driven mad if they touch it."

"Whereas you've already arrived at madness, so you're safe?"

A matched pair of human-sized darkspawn broke into the clearing, shuffling as they ran towards them. A shorter creature with broad shoulders followed close behind. They were the most horrible things that Anora had ever seen, by a considerable margin. She caught her breath and stared at her husband, who was grinning his stupid grin.

"Whereas I'm already tainted, so I'm immune. Remember?" He drew the Keening Blade, and it shrieked it's mournful cry. "Anyway, it's just three of them." He looked at Ser Horace and said, "Make sure she's protected. I'll be right back." He swept the sword around his head in a wide arc, the blade crying horribly, and charged towards the monsters. Pain raced after him, barking.

"Don't worry, your Majesty," Ser Horace said, pulling up beside her. "You're quite safe."

Anora glared at him. "I can see that," she snapped. "Can some of you please guard the King?" His blank look told her that he was not going to defy Alistair's orders, so she huffed and said, " _Fine_. Let's all just sit here and twiddle our thumbs." She bit her lip.

Cailan had never been much of a fighter. He'd had the very best training, of course, by master swordsmen and hunters and even Loghain, but he never quite had the knack of it. It was strange, given his lineage, but Anora knew it to be true. She could occasionally best him in a duel herself, and fencing was not a sport she ever took seriously.

Alistair was not Cailan. This was never more apparent than it was in that moment, as she watched him engage the two taller assailants with a grace she didn't know he had. Alistair left Pain to tackle the shorter one as he caught the blade of one darkspawn on his shield, then sunk his sword into the belly of the other one. As the darkspawn folded over him, he pulled his blade free, then spun on his heel and neatly decapitated the other one. They both fell to the ground. The mabari moved aside and allowed the King to skewer the third. His sword mewled and brayed.

Ser Horace shrugged. "I think he's got them."

"Yes," she allowed.

It should not have surprised her, of course— Alistair had to be competent at something to have survived as long as he had— but it still made her breath hitch. His swordplay was all muscle memory, a resonant dance of sword and shield, and she grudgingly admired it.

"Anyone got a match?" he shouted back at the guards, as he kicked one of the bodies experimentally with his toe. "We need to burn these."

Two of the guards broke rank to dispose of the bodies, and Alistair handed his shield off to one of them as he walked back to her. She watched him as he stepped up to his horse, sheathing his sword in a well-practiced motion. It wailed as it disappeared inside its scabbard. Then he clambered back onto his horse with much less skill and smiled at her.

Anora scowled. There were a lot of things she wanted to say to him, most of them cutting, but she had trouble picking one. "I hate that sword," she said eventually.

"Shh, she'll hear you." He placed a protective hand over the hilt of his weapon. Anora was still scowling at him, and his smile faded. "What's wrong?" he asked. "I'm fine, see? Not even a scratch."

He waited for her to answer, but Anora wasn't sure what was wrong. Although the threat had passed, her heart was still pounding, and she felt a knot in the center of her stomach. She didn't know if it was fear or anger or something else. Her eyes narrowed as she decided it was anger.

"Why are there _darkspawn_ in the forest?" Alistair blinked as she glared at him accusingly. "I thought the Blight was over. We shouldn't have to worry about this sort of thing anymore."

His gelding whinnied and pulled back from her, and Alistair struggled to get him under control again. He clucked to him and patted his neck. When the horse had settled, Alistair looked back at her, frowning. "The Archdemon is dead, so they're disorganized," he said, "but that doesn't mean they just disappear overnight." He nudged his horse with his heels, and Captain Thunderhooves shook his head and plodded forward. The guards circled around them uneasily, and Anora's mare fell in beside him.

After a few paces, Alistair added, "There were just two of us, you remember, we didn't have the resources to rout them all." He stared at her in silence, reminding her why there were just two of them.

She flicked her reins and ignored the implication. "The Wardens don't actually have a Commander right now, do they?"

"I guess they don't. Obviously they should." He shrugged and said, "Weisshaupt will have to appoint an Orlesian."

 _No_. Anora had been raised, from the very moment of her birth, on a strict diet of _Don't trust Orlesians_. Not _ever_. The Orlesians will kill your father and rape your mother. They will tax you to death, strip you of your lands and your titles, and force you to accept their cruel dominion with threats of death and torture. They will take over your palace and redecorate it in froufrou gold curlicues. Her father had been furious that she'd retained an Orlesian servant; she couldn't imagine what he would say if he knew they might put an Orlesian in charge of an Arling.

"It can't be an Orlesian," she said. "I understand we need Orlesian Wardens, but we can't have an Orlesian Commander. Not in Ferelden, and definitely not in Amaranthine. No."

Alistair frowned. "We don't really have another option," he replied. "Unless you want _me_ to go to Vigil's Keep and take command."

Anora looked at him, and for a moment she considered the possibility, but she realized it was not the answer. She sighed.

"No," she said. "It has to be an Orlesian. You're right." She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to stem the surge of disgust rising up her throat at the thought of an Orlesian in charge of Amaranthine, again.

He pulled on his right rein to turn his horse around, heading home. She was glad to see that he'd had enough excitement, and turned her horse to follow him.

"I can take care of that myself," Alistair offered. "Correspond with the Order about the new Warden-Commander and meet him when he shows up. This is right up my very narrow alley."

"Yes. You can take this one." When he looked surprised, she laughed. "Alistair, if I couldn't defer to you on Grey Warden matters, at the very least, then you might as well abdicate in favor of Captain Thunderhooves, because I'm not sure what I might ever ask of you."

Alistair laughed back. "Well, he's quite the diplomat, you'd be surprised." He smiled at her. "You can also ask me about any Templar issues, since I was almost one of those," he suggested, with a twirl of his hand. "I'm also collector of magical artifacts and a connoisseur of fine cheeses." He smiled broadly. "My areas of expertise are curious and varied."

"I doubt we'll have any cheese emergencies," she said, watching him, "but I'll remember that you were a Templar. That might be useful."

The ride home was decidedly less eventful, and Anora's pulse slowly returned to normal. She looked at Alistair and wondered what it had been like to live in constant apprehension of attacks like that, from hordes of darkspawn and scores of unknown monsters and from her father, whom she knew to be fairly terrifying.

Alistair felt her eyes on him and looked at her. He was uncertain again, the confidence that battle gave him having fled. "What is it?" he asked. His hand flew to his face nervously, as if he thought he might have something in his teeth.

"I was just wondering if you were scared," she said. "At Ostagar."

His brow furrowed as she watched him walk through his memories. "Not really," he said eventually. "I was too young to know to be scared. And then after that, I was too busy." He shook his head. "It all happened so fast."

"I was very scared," she told him. Alistair watched her, his eyes soft. She pursed her lips, remembering. "When Cailan left, a part of me knew that he would never come home." Anora blew out a long breath. "I wonder if he was afraid at the end."

"He died bravely," Alistair said.

Anora shook her head. "He died _foolishly_ ," she said. "In my coldest moments, I think that my father made the right decision in abandoning him. I am solid Mac Tir, all the way through." She stared off into the trees. "Cailan should never have been on that battlefield. He should never have engaged the horde without sufficient reinforcements." Her voice grew quieter. "He should never have died like that."

She felt tears stinging her eyes, and blinked them back. Alistair pushed his horse dangerously close to hers, and Anora pulled her horse away.

-o-


	6. Sad Bits of Flora

-o-

This was an enormous waste of time, Anora thought, as she considered the players. Irving and Greagoir both surely had more important things to do, and she could tell by the irritated looks they kept sharing that they tended to agree with her. Arl Eamon had insisted on this meeting, though, and Alistair allowed it, because it was Eamon.

"Connor needs to come home," Eamon said. "I know he's a mage, and traditionally mages are trained in the Circle Tower, but mages don't usually have the resources that I do. I can hire a private tutor for him."

"Right," Greagoir said, under his breath. "Because that worked out so well the first time."

"It would be different now," Eamon said. He glanced at Isolde, who was standing quietly behind him. "Obviously my wife made a grievous error in hiring a blood mage to tutor our son. I propose that we hire someone officially, through the Circle Tower, and set up a private school for him at the castle, so that he can be home with us. I'm willing to pay any amount."

"I suppose that... could work," Alistair allowed.

Irving crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't understand why the Arl thinks he should get special treatment," he groused.

"Because he's an Arl," said Anora. The men turned to glare at her. She returned the look coolly. "I'm sure you get special treatment because you are the First Enchanter, and the Knight-Commander." She raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me that you think that you don't."

"Even so," Greagoir said. Anora sighed and looked away.

"Connor is well cared for," Irving said. "There are many other kids his age at the Tower, so he's not so lonely anymore. In some ways I expect he's happier with us than he was in Redcliffe." Anora glanced at him; this was not the best argument to use with the boy's parents, and Irving seemed to realize it too late. He cleared his throat. "We've made sure that he's been assigned the very best teachers. We know he's an important child, and we are both doing our very best to assure he has a positive experience."

Alistair frowned. "It's not really a substitute for a family, though, is it?" he said.

"The Circle is a type of family," Greagoir said. He folded his arms. "I don't see why this is even a question."

"He needs to be with his mother," Isolde said, tears glittering at the corners of her eyes. "He needs to know I still love him."

"You could visit him," Alistair suggested.

"Actually, she can't," Greagoir said. Anora looked at Irving, who nodded his agreement. "We don't let apprentices see their families, as it disrupts their studies. It's a very delicate time and they need the isolation." He shrugged. "At least until they pass their Harrowing."

"Which could _kill_ him!" Isolde screeched. The Orlesian woman burst into a fit of perfectly understandable tears, and all the men fell to pieces over her. Anora sighed. She did not think there was anything she could do to help the situation. The answer seemed obvious to her, but Eamon was Eamon, and Isolde was typically hysterical. She sat and silently watched her husband dither.

"Isolde, don't cry, please," Alistair said. "Look, I know the Templars are... scary." He glanced at Greagoir. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you know I have some problems with your organization. But they do serve a purpose. Maybe it isn't the best place for a child to grow up, and we can think about changing that system in the long run, but I think the Circle is the best place for Connor, right now." He looked at Eamon, and the Arl glowered back at him. "Or maybe not." Alistair turned to her and said, "Help me out here, Anora."

Anora blinked, startled to hear her name. Alistair's eyes met hers, and she looked to the Arl and his wife.

"We need to do whatever Irving and Greagoir think is best," she said, as Alistair sat back and watched her. "I understand you are concerned about your child, but they are the experts in this, not you. It might be different if he were a lesser talent, but he's already proven himself to be dangerous." She glanced quickly at Alistair, who made a small movement with his hand. She said, "He belongs in the Tower."

Alistair nodded. "I have to agree."

"But—"

The King shrugged and that was the end of it. Eamon bowed. He shepherded his wife on his arm, and took his leave of them. The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander bowed and followed after.

When they had gone, it occurred to Anora that she had not been alone with Alistair for almost a week. Through a bit of snooping, she had discovered that he had been sleeping in a guest room in the east wing, and had let him be. Alistair spread his hands, in an expression she didn't quite understand, and she drew a breath.

"I really appreciate that you want my advice," she said.

He cocked his head to the side. "Of course I want your advice," he said. "You're really smart, and I'm, you know... not."

Anora considered this and sighed. "You're not actually all that stupid, Alistair," she said. "You just like to pretend."

"Yes, it's an elaborate ruse," Alistair said, laughing. "I'm actually an evil genius. And here I thought I had you fooled."

He smiled at her. Anora's eyes found the delicate scar at his jaw and followed it to his ear. It might have been caused be an arrow, she thought, the point grazing his chin as he turned away from it. Widest at the center, beneath the crease of his smile, it tapered out toward the ends and disappeared into tendrils.

"Zevran," he said. When she looked confused, Alistair ran his thumb along the scar. "He got a shot in before we took him down, and this was before we found Wynne, so it didn't close neatly. Smarmy bastard teased me about it, too, once we'd recruited him." Anora nodded, and he dropped his hand. "You were staring."

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." She looked away quickly. "I hope you aren't self conscious about it, Alistair. I mean, really." She shrugged. "If anything, it adds to your appeal."

Alistair frowned. "My what?"

"Oh, please." Anora met his eyes and laughed. "Alistair, you know you're handsome."

Cailan had always known, anyway; he had been rather cocksure about it. Alistair shifted in his chair. His brow wrinkled as he returned her gaze suspiciously, and Anora felt unexpectedly exposed. She shook her head.

"Well, I should get to work," she said, pushing herself to her feet. "Good day, your Majesty." His eyes followed her as she strode out of the room.

-o-

Anora stood by the shelf in her study, looking for a book. She knew the Temple of Andraste was going to become an issue, in the very near future, and she needed to brush up on the specifics. She pulled out _Thedas: Myths and Legends_ and sat down with it, opened it to the page on the sacred ashes, and read it again for the fourth time.

She didn't know why she bothered. Brother Genitivi was a terrible writer, and sometimes his prose was completely opaque. Anora was annoyed by his use of gerunds.

There was a knock at the door, a staccato double-single strike that she recognized as Alistair's. "Come in," she said, without looking up.

He entered. She glanced at him quickly, and noticed he was flushed. It was possible he had been running, she thought. The scar seemed brighter against his skin.

"Hello," he said.

"Hello," she said.

"What are you up to?" he asked. He gestured at the book in her hands. "Obsessing about minutia again, I expect."

Anora frowned. "I'm trying to run the kingdom, Alistair." She drummed her fingers along the spine of the book. "You'd be surprised how fortifying it can be."

Alistair shifted, a tension passing across his shoulders. "I didn't come here to insult you," he said. She exhaled and wasn't sure she believed that. "I just came because I realized... well... I realized you were trying to be nice to me, before. When you said..." Anora looked up, and his voice trailed off. "Eamon once told me you were quite the charmer, but I've never really seen it before, so I didn't recognize it."

Anora gave him a quizzical look, and he shook his head. "That came out wrong," he said. "I mean... Thank you. It was very sweet of you to say." He sighed. "All I really meant to say was 'thank you.' I don't know what all the rest of this was about."

Anora set aside her book. "You're welcome," she said.

They stared at each other. Anora noticed he had his hands behind his back, and she tilted her hand to the side. Alistair stepped towards her. He brought his hands out in front of him, clasped together around something she couldn't see.

"Hold out your hand," he said. "I have something for you." He opened his hands and deposited a pile of wilted leaves and petals into her waiting palm. Anora inspected them curiously.

"It's a dead rose." She looked up at him, cocking an eyebrow. "I don't get it."

"Oh, well... hmm. It wasn't always so dead. I guess I've been carrying it around for a really long time now." Alistair took a deep breath. "I tried to give it to Nya once, but she didn't want it."

Anora was still cocking an eyebrow. "So now you're giving it to me. This very dead rose." She looked at the sad bits of flora in her hand again. "Thanks?"

"It's not just a dead rose," he said quickly. "See, we were in Lothering right before it got sacked. The place was in pretty bad shape, but it happened to be that there was this one flower there, behind the Chantry. Actually, I found out later that the flower might possibly be holy. It had something to do with Leliana's vision, but I didn't know that at the time." Anora stared at him blankly. Alistair paused to take a breath before continuing, and she saw color climbing up his neck. "I just picked it because I thought it was pretty," he said. "It was the one pretty thing in all that darkness. Which is sort of like you, I guess. I don't know. You're very pretty." He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "This all sounds really pathetic, saying it out loud. It seemed more romantic in my head."

Anora still didn't understand. "You want me to have this?" she asked, puzzled.

He shrugged. "I guess."

She cupped the flower in her hands. It was the sorriest excuse for a flower that she had ever seen, so completely beat up and tragically withered and tied together with a story that was equal parts silly and sad. It was the most hopelessly sentimental gift she was ever likely to receive. It was cloying and treacly and sort of cute.

"I'll... treasure it always," she said, frowning.

-o-


	7. Sharpness of Needles

-o-

"I thought you were joking," Alistair said, as he found her on the sofa in the sitting room of their suite, near an open window. "You really do like needlecraft?"

Anora jumped at the sound of his voice. Her hand slipped and the needle ran into her finger.

"Yes, but I lied about liking red," she replied, as it drew a spot of blood. It hurt much more than it really should have, she thought, wincing, and she scowled at Alistair as though the sharpness of needles were his fault. Anora touched the pinprick to her mouth. "Why are you here?" she asked. The words came out a little garbled.

Alistair laughed. "Why are any of us here? Why is the sky blue?" He crossed over to the sofa and sat down beside her, his knees tucked together, his hands carefully in his lap. "I just wanted to see you." Noticing her finger in her mouth, he added, "Um... sorry about your hand."

"It's nothing." Anora's brow furrowed as she tried to wrap a scrap of cloth around her finger and fumbled with it. Alistair took her hand and held the fabric for her, waiting for the blood to clot. She glanced at him. "You don't need to do that."

"No," he agreed, grinning, "but it makes me look so sensitive."

Anora looked down at her hand, her fingers small inside his. As the moment stretched out, Alistair released her. She pulled away the makeshift bandage and set it down on the floor, then picked up her embroidery again.

His eyes followed her hands as the needle dove under the linen, pulling the length of blue cord behind it. It left a tight knot behind, and she pulled it back through behind it, forming a line. She pulled it through the other side, forming a cross, and then again to form a star.

"What are you making?" As he leaned forward, he rested his hand experimentally on her shoulder, and when she didn't pull away, his fingers began to move in slow circles across her back.

"Oh, I don't really know." Anora laughed a little. "Sometimes I just need to do something to turn my mind off. It might be a pillow." She took a deep breath and flexed her neck, stretching. The fine detail work made her back stiff.

She felt his hands close around her shoulders. Anora exhaled. He pulled at her tendons, lengthening them, working out the tension in her muscles. His fingers dug into her flesh, strong and assured, and her eyelids fluttered shut. She felt her skin warming. His hands drifted down her back, and he rested his chin on her shoulder.

Anora looked up at the door. "This is the closest you've come to our bedroom in quite some time," she said, turning her head so that her cheek almost touched his. "Were you planning to stay?"

Shifting, his fingertips pressed into her back for a moment before he flattened his hands again. "Did you want me to?" he asked.

Anora swallowed. "Well, we still have to produce an heir." She sighed, looking down at the spot of blood on the cloth at her feet. "In case you were wondering, it didn't take the first time."

"Oh. That." Alistair sat back against the cushions, blowing out a breath. His arms flopped down at his sides.

"Yes, that," Anora said. She stared at her needle. "It is important."

"I know it's important." Alistair looked pained. "It's not that I don't want to, either," he said. "You're absolutely stunning, Anora, and I have a pulse and everything. It's just that last time you..." His voice trailed off, and Anora turned to look at him.

"Tell me that you want me to stay," he said, "and I'm yours."

"I already told you—"

"That's not what I meant." Alistair searched her eyes. He noticed a hair hanging loose, and he pushed it gently away from her face. "Tell me that you want me."

Anora flushed. She looked down and fixedly studied her needlework. "You ask too much, Alistair," she said.

"You expect too little." Alistair watched her, and Anora avoided his eyes. She found her place in the pattern again, finishing the head of one flower with a center knot and moving on to another. "I don't understand why you're in such a hurry," he said. "We still have twenty-eight years."

Her hands stopped moving. "That's a very specific number," she said, frowning. "Although it seems rather high, for me." Anora tried to figure out his math and couldn't manage it. "How did you arrive at it, exactly?"

"Oh." Alistair took a deep breath. "Didn't I tell you? No, I guess I didn't." He lifted his knee slightly to angle himself towards her. "Wardens only live for thirty years, give or take," he said. "It's the tainted blood. If I don't manage to kill myself first, I'll sort of turn into a darkspawn." Alistair grimaced. "Sorry I didn't tell you before. Are you mad?"

Anora realized her mouth was hanging open, and she closed it quickly. "No, I'm not angry, Alistair," she said slowly. "I'm just..." She thought about the tainted monsters she had seen and shivered. "That sounds absolutely awful. Are you scared?"

"Not especially," he said, shrugging. "Everybody dies. At least I get to die with purpose." He smiled. "You know me and oaths unto death. I'm really into them."

Anora looked at him sideways and smiled slightly. "Yes, I suppose I'd noticed." Alistair did not seem bothered by this, so she tried not to worry. He was waiting for her to say something, she thought, so she shook her head.

"Sleep wherever you like," she said, as she tied off her cord and threaded another color. Her needle pierced the fabric. "But please make sure someone wakes you up tomorrow morning. We have that meeting with the hahren."

Alistair sighed. "Whatever you say," he replied, spreading his hands.

-o-

Anora thought the package she had put together was more than generous, but neither Valendrian nor his pretty young protégé seemed to agree. Shianni was just as abrasive as her sources had indicated. She narrowed her eyes whenever Anora talked, and there was a catch in her voice when she spoke to them.

"That's not enough," Shianni insisted. She tossed her head, and her brilliant red hair shone in the light. "You're going to have to do a lot more than that to make things right with us, after everything that's happened."

Anora sighed. Shianni clearly resented her, for reasons that appeared to have more to do with her station and race than her gender. The woman seemed to accept Alistair, though, so Anora deferred to him for the moment. She wondered what had happened to this elf to make her so angry; there were shadows in her eyes.

"You're right," Alistair said, musing. He sat back. "You deserve better. What if I included your elder in my personal court?"

Anora blinked. She turned to Alistair, her mouth half open. "That wasn't what we—"  


"I don't fancy myself a politician, your Majesty," Valendrian said, somewhat amused.

Alistair smiled at Shianni. "Well, I'd just as soon have her, anyway."

The flame-haired elf lifted her chin. Anora looked from Shianni to Alistair, feeling betrayed. Eamon was bad enough, but Anora felt she could hardly compete with the damaged little elf girl. As she looked back at Shianni, Anora desperately hoped that she would refuse.

"I... I would be honored," Shianni said. Her teeth gleamed as she bowed her head. "Your Majesty."

"Welcome to the club then," he said, with a winning smile.

Anora gaped as the elven woman stood to receive his blessing, and Alistair bent to kiss her cheek. Shianni smiled and whispered something to him, outside of her hearing, and he laughed. Then Shianni held out her hand to Anora, and she shook it numbly. The elf's fingers were slender and her grip light. As she left, Shianni left the smell of rose petals behind her, and Anora drew a sharp breath.

Alistair smiled as he turned to her. "I think that went very well, don't you?"

Her hands closed into fists, and Anora shook her head. "I can't believe you just put that girl on your council," she said tightly.

"You asked me to help," he said, shrugging. Alistair started to leave the throne room, as if the discussion were over. When Anora followed him, he glanced over his shoulder. "The elves were about to riot, Anora," he said. "We had to give them something."

"We were giving them all sorts of things," she returned, pushing her nails into her palms. "We had a plan, Alistair. A plan which we discussed at length, remember? It did not include making that knife-ears your new best friend. Do you have any idea—"

Alistair turned. "What did you just say?"

Swallowing, Anora took a step back. "I was _about_ to say," she said, "do you have any idea how the nobles will react?" She shifted on her feet. "It won't solve anything."

"That's not what you said." Alistair shook his head. "I can't believe you would use that term, Anora." He sighed. "Maker, Nya used to—"

"And there it is!" Anora crossed her arms and looked away. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to say her name. It's been a whole three hours." She pursed her lips. "Of course you would do whatever Shianni asked. Following her orders must feel so _familiar_."

"Maker's blood, Anora, sometimes I have no idea what you're talking about." Alistair raked his hand through his hair. "The elves should have an equal voice, Anora," he said. "I can't believe you don't agree with me."

"These are childish dreams," Anora scoffed. She lowered her eyes. "You make all these grand claims, Alistair," she said, biting her lip, "but all Shianni had to do was flip her hair, and you gave everything away."

For a moment, it was so quiet a needle dropping would have deafened them. Then, inexplicably, Alistair began to laugh. Anora glared him, and he stopped laughing, but he kept on grinning like an idiot. "Anora, are you..." His smile broadened. "Are you _jealous?_ "

Anora huffed. "No, of course I'm not jealous. Why would I be jealous?" Her toe began to tap of its own accord. "I'm very angry because you've just done something very foolish," she said. "My response is completely rational."

He took a step towards her, so that she could feel his warmth against her arms. He lifted her chin on his hand, finding her eyes. She looked up at him. "You're so jealous," Alistair said, and he leaned in to kiss her.

Anora met him halfway. He dropped his hands to her waist, pulling her towards him, and she melted into him for a moment before pulling away. When she met his eyes again, his expression was soft and hard all at once.

"I'm giving the elves a place in my court," he said.

"That's fine," she agreed, with a quick nod. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "It's an excellent idea, in fact. I don't know what came over me."

Alistair brushed his knuckles against her cheek and scanned her eyes. "Shianni runs too hot for me, you know," he said, with a small smile. "I only chase women who are emotionally unavailable."

Anora took a shallow breath. "Alistair, I..."

"Yeees?" His eyes were much too hopeful.

"Nothing." She broke his gaze. "There was nothing else I wanted to say."

-o-


	8. Wilhelm's Special Brew

-o-

As had become her habit, Anora made her way down to the dining room to have supper with her husband. When she arrived, she found that Alistair was not alone. He was sitting with an unkempt dwarf that she remembered vaguely from the campaign. Anora hesitated. He looked like he had not washed in days, but she realized he was an honored guest of the King, so she held out her hand to him and said, "Oghren, isn't it?"

"All my life!" the dwarf replied, grabbing her hand and shaking it roughly. Then he belched.

"Charmed, I'm sure," Anora said, as she recalled her jostled appendage.

Alistair looked pained as he looked from her to Oghren and back again. "I didn't know he was coming," he said, as if apologizing. "Maybe you should come back later."

"You don't want me to eat with you and your friend?" she asked. Anora's stomach growled insistently, and she was surprised to find she was rather annoyed by his rejection. She huffed. "Well, that's fine," she said, crossing her arms. "I suppose I can eat all by myself, then."

Her husband was helpless under such a hammering assault. His mouth worked but no sound came out, then he silently offered her a chair. Anora sat down, quite pleased with herself.

A servant entered and brought her a plate filled with carrots, lamb, and potatoes, covered in gravy. The servant had also brought a bottle of wine that he intended to offer her.

"Don't bother with that stuff," Oghren said. He covered Anora's wine glass with his hand to keep the servant from filling it, then lifted another bottle from underneath the table. "I brought my own."

"Oghren, I really don't think..." Alistair grimaced as he glanced from the dwarf to Anora.

Anora eyed the bottle suspiciously. It was unopened and appeared to be a gift. Manners dictated that she should sample it, but she had to consider the source, so she looked at Alistair and lowered her voice. "Is there something wrong with it?" she asked.

"Nothing's wrong with it," Oghren interjected, although Alistair looked unconvinced. " _Nothing_. Well, don't think there's anything wrong with it, anyway." The dwarf shrugged. "Warden gave it to me. Been saving it for just such an occasion."

"Nya had good taste," Alistair said.

Anora frowned at him. "Well, so do I," she said. "What's wrong?"

"Apparently nothing," Alistair said, as he sat back and spread his hands. "Have at it, then, by all means. Don't say I didn't warn you."

Anora remembered that Alistair was generally squeamish about alcohol and decided to ignore him. The servant retreated as Oghren filled her glass, snickering as the dark opalescent liquid pooled and lapped up the sides of the cup. When he had finished serving Anora, he held the bottle out to Alistair and wiggled it suggestively.

"What the heck," Alistair said. "Let's all be stupid together." He let Oghren pour him a glass as well.

Anora sniffed the beverage cautiously. It smelled rich and earthy, like crushed fall leaves. She took a sip: it was not bad at all. She took a larger pull, letting the liquid cover her tongue and savoring it before swallowing. Its warmth traveled down her throat and blossomed into a glowing fire of happiness in her stomach. Her eyes widened. She felt euphoric and strangely unfastened. This was not a beverage to be sipped, she decided spontaneously, so she lifted the glass and gulped it all down.

"Oh," she said, licking her lips. "That's _good_."

"You like it?" Oghren asked, grinning. He lifted the bottle and offered it to her. "Have as much as you want. I insist."

"Anora..." Alistair cautioned, but she had already poured and was already drinking.

She examined the bottle curiously as she downed her second glass. Wilhelm's Special Brew, it read. She did not know who this Wilhelm was, but clearly he was a genius and she thought she'd like to meet him. The empty glass glittered in her hands. Alistair and Oghren gaped at her as she poured herself another.

"Now there's a _woman_ ," Oghren said approvingly, as he grinned at Alistair.

"A woman I have _never_ met before," Alistair said, watching her.

Anora picked up a napkin to wipe her mouth, then arranged it in her lap. When she lifted her head, her vision spun a little. She blinked. "What were you boys talking about?" she asked. "Before I arrived."

Oghren looked at her, his sunken eyes bleary, and said, "The kid and I were just relivin' some past glories. Did he ever tell ya about ol' Gaxkang?"

She met Alistair's eyes across the table and laughed. It came out louder than she expected, and she covered her mouth quickly. "Yes," she said, through the gaps of her fingers. "He did at that."

"What a poof!" Oghren bellowed, laughing so hard that he spit a little. "I'm not sure if he was a demon or a mage or what, but he definitely liked to polish another man's weapon, if ya know what I mean."

Alistair frowned. "I'm still not sure that I do..."

"We fought for ages, seemed like, and he changed shape a couple o' times," Oghren said. He lifted his goblet to his lips and drank deeply. "Then he shot some kinda purple magic at the kid over here, and landed him right on his bupkiss. Tossed him like a ragdoll. Leliana had ta step in and save him."

Anora snorted. "Alistair left that part out of his reckoning," she said, smiling over her glass, which was emptier than she remembered.

Alistair lifted his own glass, which for a moment seemed to glow. Anora rubbed her eyes; it wasn't glowing anymore. "Well, excuse me for taking liberties," he said, smiling into his cup. "I'm the hero of my own story, you know. I still got to keep his sword."

Anora looked at Alistair. He smiled at her, a warm smile that made his eyelids crinkle, and she tilted her head to the side. It was possible he was prettier than Cailan, she thought. She tilted her head to the other side. No, she decided, he was _exactly_ the same amount of pretty. She pursed her lips and kicked him under the table.

Alistair jumped, staring at her in bewilderment. She knew she was grinning foolishly and tried to make her face more normal, but failed utterly. He shook his head and turned to the dwarf. "What brings you to the castle, Oghren?" he asked. "Not that I'm not happy as ever to see you, but you didn't mention."

"Wanted to see you before I headed up to the Keep," he said. Alistair's eyes widened, and Oghren laughed. "Didn't I tell you? Guess I musta forgot. I'm gonna join yer little club. Should be interesting."

"Really." Alistair regarded him skeptically, his fork hovering in front of his face. "You want to be a Grey Warden." He let out a laugh. "I never would have guessed."

Anora noticed that Alistair was eating. She looked down at her food. She thought she should eat something, too, but the alcohol had been surprisingly filling. She picked at her lamb for a bit, and then moved her carrots around her plate before nibbling at them.

"Yep," Oghren answered. "Didn't really think about it when we were travelling together, since it wasn't an option, but life's been really dull since we stopped the Blight. Wanna get back in the action, and the Order's got some real bragging rights." He snorted. "Ladies go nuts over that little griffon."

Anora thought that was an awful lot of words all at once. She was having trouble following the whole conversation. She turned her attention back to her food and began to try to eat the lamb again. It was tough and very boring to chew. Ooh, potatoes.

"You know, it's a big sacrifice, joining the Order," Alistair warned. "It's part of the motto and everything. It's like, in peace, sacrifice, or no...I have that wrong. Death is sacrifice. Peace is..." He grinned impishly. "Peace is my _favorite_ , it's all drinking games and midnight cheese runs."

Alistair began to laugh to himself, and Anora noticed his glass was almost empty, too. She pushed the bottle at him, and he topped it off, draining the rest of the liquor. He rubbed his forehead with his thumb as he sipped.

"But sacrifice...whoa boy." Alistair leaned over the table, resting on his elbow. "There's this giant cup and you have to drink darkspawn blood which sometimes..." His voice faltered, and he sat up quickly. "Wait, that's a secret, what am I doing? Anyway, it's super scary and you should be really sure about it."

"Oh, I am sure," Oghren said, and his voice became serious. "What it really comes down to is that I want to do something to honor Nya." The dwarf's eyes unfocused and Anora thought they might be sparkling a little. "I think she woulda been happy ta see me... heh, happy is the wrong word for Nya, but she'da been proud."

Alistair smiled. "I think that is very true, my stumpy friend."

Her husband's eyes were _definitely_ sparkling, and Anora lost herself in them for a moment. She dropped her fork and gave up on her food.

"Why was she so sad all the time?" she asked.

Alistair and Oghren looked at each other. The dwarf made a motion with his hand, deferring to Alistair, and her husband turned to her.

"Nya was just _really_ sensitive," he said. His eyes roamed upwards as he remembered her. "She didn't want to be a Warden. She was _awesome_ at it, I mean she was this itty bitty elf but she could drop a giant ogre like he was a, uh... much smaller ogre." He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and then opening them wide again before continuing. "Where was I? Oh yeah. Nya hated doing what must be did... done. She cried for days after Zathrian." He sighed wistfully. Anora thought Alistair was really sensitive, too, and she gave him a warm smile. Alistair smiled back at her.

"Anyway..." he continued, after a moment. "One day this old friend of hers showed up, this elf kid named Tenten, no wait...Tambien? Tamlen?"

"Temchabs," Oghren supplied.

Alistair snapped his fingers. "Yes, him. And he was a ghoul." He spun his hand over his face and stuck out his tongue, but no one seemed to know what that meant, so he flapped his hands. "It's not important. What I mean is, she had to kill him, and that was... ugh. Yeah. Nya was afraid to be close to anyone after that." He frowned. "Sometimes she was really mean about it, too."

"Nya wasn't easy to like," Oghren agreed, grunting. "She wasn't easy anything." He grinned at Alistair, raising his bushy eyebrows lewdly. "Although Alistair sure wished she was, he he heh."

"Oghren!" Alistair glared at the dwarf. "My wife is _right there_."

"Pfft, it's not like it's some big secret," said Anora. She laughed and took another drink. The glass was empty again, and she placed it carefully down on the table. It teetered from side to side as it settled into place.

"Probably should be. Stones of my ancestors, but that was embarrassing to watch." Oghren laughed a little, and his eyes glazed over. "Even the elf left her alone eventually, but Ali..."

Anora waited for him to continue, but apparently that was the end of the story. Oghren's eyelids drifted shut, and his head sunk to the table. After a little while he began to snore. Anora looked at Alistair, her brow creased with concern.

Alistair shrugged. "That happens all the time with him."

Anora nodded, and started to giggle. Alistair laughed also, although his laugh was much more masculine. His eyes met hers from across the table and she fell silent. He really was very handsome, she thought. Alistair seemed to be evaluating her, too, and Anora felt self conscious for a moment, but she noticed he was giving her a smoldering look, and she smiled again. Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she felt a blush kissing her cheeks. The silence waited for her with breathless anticipation. Anora suddenly remembered who Wilhelm was, and she cleared her throat.

"Um...I think the liquor was enchanted," she said.

"Oh." He flushed as he looked away from her. "Of course. That explains it."

Now that Anora knew what it was, it was hard to ignore how flustered she felt. Wilhelm, the unscrupulous mage from the rebellion, had been an infamous womanizer. She stood up quickly, and her napkin fell to the floor.

"Well, I'm tired," she said, although she clearly wasn't. "I'm going to bed."

Alistair frowned. "I don't, um...maybe I should walk you to your room?"

Anora chewed her lip and considered this for a moment. She thought this was possibly a very bad idea. Then she smiled. "Yes, thank you."

He rose somewhat shakily to his feet and started to walk out the door. As he passed by her, she grabbed his hand, and he smiled. His palm radiated heat. Anora leaned against his arm as he walked down the hall, past a staircase. She stopped, but he kept walking until he reached the end of her arm and stopped to look back at her, confused.

"I think we go this way," she suggested, jerking her head towards the staircase.

"Oh, right," he agreed. "This castle is so confusing!"

Stairs presented a particular challenge, she discovered. Her depth perception was not what it should be, and she held tight to Alistair's hand as they proceeded up them, tugging on him as she stumbled. Her foot slipped as she missed one of the landings, and she flailed and clutched his arm. It was a really nice arm, she thought, and she wrapped both her hands around it and squeezed. He shifted away from her with a cough.

"I think somebody installed a few extra steps," he said, as he leaned up against the wall to steady himself. He turned so that his shoulder blades rested against the stonework, took a deep breath, and narrowed his eyes. "That _bastard_."

Anora took a step towards him. "This is a really long walk," she said. She planted her hands on his chest and leaned up against him. Her skin tingled along the contact. "Maybe you should carry me."

Alistair swayed under her weight. "I don't really think I'm safe for that, dear," he said, with a nervous laugh. He reached out with his arm and pushed open a door. "And anyway, we've arrived."

"Huh." Looking around, Anora was surprised to discover they were no longer on the staircase, but she quickly accepted this change of location and rested her head on his shoulder. He smelled like cinnamon and sunshine, and she could hear his heartbeat pounding against her ear. His hand rested on her hip, and she felt hers racing as well. The open door yawned beside her. She looked through it curiously and asked, "Were you going to...?"

"Leave? Right now?" Alistair cleared his throat. "Yes, I think that's probably a good idea." He peeled her off his chest and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Good night, Anora."

Anora sighed. "As you please," she said.

"Ugh, I _hate_ when you say that!" Alistair said, throwing up his hands. Anora stepped back. "It sounds polite, but what it really means is 'I think you're dumb but I'm too prim to say it.'"

"Oh, and I suppose I should be a giant slobbering—"

"Wait," Alistair said, squinting. He dropped his hands. "What are we arguing about?"

"I have _no_ idea."

Anora grabbed him by the shoulders and kissed him deeply. She pushed him back into the room, kicking the door shut behind her. He didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, so she grabbed them and positioned them on the waist of her dress and encouraged him to unlace it. He was taking too long, so she did it herself.

Alistair gave in to kissing her, sliding his hands into the gap in her garment to drag his fingers along her skin. Her blood warmed as he devoured her hungrily. He was really not such a bad kisser, she thought. She might have been too hard on him before. He was being pretty hard on her too, though. Anora laughed; oh, _puns_. She ran her hands over his arms, down his back, along the firm muscles of his chest.

He pulled away from her, taking a breath. "You're much friendlier than usual," he said, his eyes checking hers.

Anora huffed. "Please stop analyzing everything that I do."

" _Me?_ You're the one who—"

"Shut _up_ , Alistair." She pressed herself against him again and slid her hand inside his waistband, trending down. _That_ shut him up, rather immediately, as his mouth dropped open and he shuddered. Anora wished that she had thought of that before. She closed her fingers around him and watched with some amusement as his eyes rolled back in his head, and she smiled wickedly.

He tried to come back to himself. "Anora, wait."

"No."

"Oh... okay...I just..." His fingers tightened on her waist. As her hand slid free, Alistair exhaled, but when she started unbuttoning his trousers, he recoiled and grabbed her hands. He took a deep breath and pushed her firmly away. "You're obviously not yourself," he said. "I don't want you to be angry with me tomorrow."

Anora was _not_ herself. She was quite delightfully not herself, and she smiled ridiculously. "Oh, come _on_ ," she said, placing her hands on her hips. "I want you, all right? I want you, I want you, I want you." She rolled her eyes. "Can we please have sex now?"

Alistair blushed. "Well, when you put it like _that_ ," he said, and pulled her towards him.

-o-


	9. Be Careful

-o-

A soul-crushing torment greeted Anora when she awoke in the morning. As she opened her eyes, sunlight soaked in, and the space behind her eyes caught fire. She opened her mouth to complain, but her tongue was bone dry, and she licked her lips and swallowed before she could make a sound.

"Andraste's magic _hangover_ ," Anora groaned, rubbing her temples.

A shape emerged from the shadows, walking up to the side of the bed. She assumed it was Alistair. "I tried to warn you," he said. His voice was soft, but rang like thunder in her skull. "Never party with Oghren."

Anora nodded and sat up. She felt like she was wearing a helmet lined with needles, and the helmet was getting smaller. Someone less cautious than herself had taken possession of her body and done very irresponsible things with it. She cradled her forehead and moaned.

"Here, drink this." He pushed a mug at her face.

Anora sniffed it and drew back, wrinkling her nose. "Ugh, it smells like rotten nug meat." She frowned up at him. "This is a potion, isn't it?"

"Mmm, but it comes from Wynne," he said, "and not an abandoned cellar of ill repute. Elfroot, rosehips, and some other stuff you probably don't want to know about. Your standard morning after remedy." He smiled faintly. "I can assure you that I have tested it, and it works."

She lifted the cup to her mouth and drank; the potion tasted just as bad as it smelled. "You must leave for Amaranthine as soon as possible," she said, wincing. "If your dwarven friend beats you there, nobody will be fit to speak to you when you arrive."

Alistair knelt beside her. "Most of his stuff isn't quite so...potent." His face opened, and he reached for her hand tentatively. She heard the floorboards creak under his knees. He asked, "Are you mad at me?"

Anora stared into her cup. The elixir was already beginning to ease the pain in her head, and she laughed. "Not even a little."

She glanced at him and watched his face break into a smile. He pulled back the covers and crawled back into bed beside her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and nestling his face in her hair. He exhaled. His breath tickled, and she shifted, putting a little distance between them.

"Don't feel too proud of yourself," she said. "You still have a lot to learn."

He ran his fingers up and down her arm. "I just need some practice."

"Yes," she agreed. He took her empty cup and set it down on a nightstand; Anora cleared her throat and he quickly found a coaster for it. Alistair turned back to her, his eyes questing, and she added, "Although it doesn't necessarily have to be with—"

"Stop." His hand found her waist, and she realized with some surprise that she was naked. "I can wait a few days, right?" he asked, pressing his nose against her cheek. "I mean, Oghren probably hasn't even woken up yet."

Anora shrugged. He came around in front of her and touched a kiss to her lips. He pulled back, meeting her eyes, and she smiled. He kissed her again, breathing into her, his hands running over the curve of her ribcage. She fell back to the mattress. The blanket pulled away from her, draped over his hips, and Alistair froze. He stared down at her.

Her brow furrowed. "What?" she asked.

Alistair blinked. "I've just...I've never actually seen your breasts before," he said, and continued to stare. "And, wow. They are awesome."

Anora covered her face with her hand. "You are so immature."

"Yeah, well, you're a pain in the ass," he said, and laughed.

-o-

The King insisted on royal armor. To Anora this did not seem very practical, but he assured her that he was accustomed to travelling in heavy plate, and he thought it would seem more official. The suit was retrieved from storage, the metal polished to a mirror-like gleam, and a glow surrounded him when he stepped into the light. He did look very regal, she decided, and that was not something she would usually think about him.

Anora had donned her best silk gown to see him off at the palace gates. Ser Horace and his honor guard surrounded him, waiting quietly. She looked up at the parapets and noticed some of them required new shingles. Anora frowned; she would have to speak to the groundskeeper when this was over.

Stepping towards her, Alistair bent slightly to kiss her and then moved away.

"Well, I'm off," he said, swinging his arms. "Good-bye, Anora."

"Farewell, your Majesty," she replied, and curtsied.

Alistair nodded. "So, I'm going to go, now."

He kept saying that, but Anora noticed that he hadn't actually moved. She wondered how much longer he was going to stand there; she hoped it wouldn't be too long. Alistair had kept her almost completely occupied the last few days, and while it had not been unpleasant, she had fallen rather far behind on her work. The new trade agreements with Orzammar were not going to arbitrate themselves. Anora tapped her toe impatiently.

The moment dragged on. Alistair looked at her, pensive, then dropped his eyes to the ground. He kicked a rock with his foot, stone clanging against metal, then looked up at her again, squinting.

"Is there something else?" she asked.

Alistair spread his hands. "Um...I love you?"

Anora raised her eyebrows. "You have a very strange sense of humor, Alistair," she said.

"Yeah, I'm hysterical." Alistair blushed. He shifted his shoulders, his armor clanking, and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. "That was way too soon." He cleared his throat. "Sorry. I didn't mean it."

"Of course you didn't," she said, as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "You don't love me, Alistair." With a quick glance at Ser Horace, Anora leaned towards him and lowered her voice. "You just love having sex with me. It's not actually the same thing."

"Mmm." He closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her waist. His shoulder guard bumped into her cheek, and Anora squirmed uncomfortably. "You're right," he said, nuzzling her. "It's just the sex."

"Ugh, Alistair. Let go of me." Anora planted her hands on his chest and wriggled away. "We're in public."

Indeed, Ser Horace looked very uncomfortable. The knight was standing just behind Alistair, staring pointedly off to the side. Anora glanced at him with eyebrows lifted, bringing the guard's discomfort to Alistair's attention, and her husband took a careful step back.

Alistair's eyes were as big as saucers, glittering with need. He asked, "Are you going to miss me, at least?"

"Are you going to give me the opportunity, at some point?" She flashed a smile, and he nodded, but his face fell. Anora looked at the ground. "Please don't be like this," she said quietly. Her dress was mussed from his attention, she noticed, and she smoothed it with her hands. "If you ask me for more than I have to give, you will be disappointed."

"All right then," Alistair said, shrugging. "I'm _really_ going..."

She looked up to see him leave. The sun glinted off his golden armor as he turned away from her, surrounded by his soldiers. They were heading north, of course, not west, but her heart still skipped a beat. _Not again_ , Anora thought suddenly, and she closed her eyes.

"Be careful," she said.

Alistair spun around, smiling broadly. "Ah, do I detect a note of concern?"

Anora huffed. "Well, you're much too reckless, Alistair," she said, crossing her arms. "I understand you're very capable with a sword, but you're not invincible and... well," His hazel eyes met hers. He was like a beautiful puppy dog, she thought. Anora shook her head. "I would be in a difficult position, if you died," she said. "So please don't."

Alistair seemed to take this for all sorts of things she was sure she hadn't said. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes softened, and she watched his heart make all sorts of commitments she hadn't asked him to keep. Anora sighed.

"I'll be careful," he promised.

-o-


	10. Cheese Emergency

-o-

Anora tapped the tips of her fingers against her arm irritably. When she had suggested promoting Sighard as Teryn, she had not considered that this would make his son Oswynn the new Bann of Dragon's Peak. And that Oswynn would then have to _be_ in Dragon's Peak. That was wonderful for him, of course, but Oswynn had been a landless dandy for many years, and Anora had found him useful, on occasion. For example, he loved parties, and would always help her plan them.

Anora hated parties.

Seating arrangements were the worst, especially in a country that had just emerged from a civil war. Everybody had a grudge against someone, and it was all but impossible to keep track of them all, yet now they all had to get together and celebrate Feastday as if everything were hugs and puppies.

"Who do we have sitting next to Bann Alfstanna?" Anora asked, as she reclined on her chaise and stared crossly at the ceiling.

Erlina checked the sheet of vellum in her hand. "Lady Habren," she said, scanning it. "Bryland's daughter."

Anora curled her fingers and then uncurled them, her knuckles cracking. An ugly habit she tried to avoid, but sometimes she couldn't help herself. "That won't do at all," she muttered. "Alfstanna is a foulmouthed tomboy, and Habren is a spoiled snot of a girl." She closed her eyes. "Just because they are both female doesn't mean they have anything in common. Who put this list together?"

Erlina cleared her throat. "Is that a rhetorical question? Because you just—"

"I _know_ I did, Erlina, but Maker, what was I thinking? Ugh!" She rubbed her temples with her hands in small circular motions, feeling the warmth spreading as she calmed herself. "Could I trouble you for a glass of that whiskey?"

Erlina scowled at her. "How about some tea?"

"Oh, right. My head is all turned around." Anora sighed and looked out the window. "Tea would be lovely."

As her handmaid scampered out, Anora looked out at the gardens and knew it was not actually Oswynn's fault. It was Alistair's fault. Putting together a guest list, while not one of her favorite tasks in the world, was certainly within her faculty, under normal circumstances. Alistair was making everything very unnormal... er, abnormal. Anora shook her head.

Erlina returned with a glass, and Anora sipped it gratefully. The honey-colored beverage burned just a little bit as it went down, but it tasted rich and sweet, and she blew into it. Steam clouded her eyes.

"Where did you want to put Eamon?" Erlina asked.

"Next to the King, I suppose," she said. Erlina looked surprised, and Anora shrugged. "Alistair seems to want him there, for some reason. It doesn't matter. I'll be on the other side."

"I fully agree," Erlina said. "I didn't think you did, though."

Anora finished her drink and set the mug down on the floor. "Burn it all," she said. "Why don't we just make it a buffet? Everyone can seat themselves. I really don't want to do this."

"That sounds perfectly wonderful," Erlina said. She gripped the vellum in her fingers and ripped it neatly in two. "Oh, but you do still have to choose the appetizers," she said. "The quality of your cheese platter can make or break a party."

Anora laughed. "My goodness," she said. "A cheese emergency. Alistair will be so disappointed to have missed it." Erlina stared at her blankly, and Anora fell silent. She looked up at the ceiling.

There was something very wrong with her, she thought.

-o-

The King was gone for more than a month. Reports filtered back from Amaranthine of an attack on Vigil's Keep, of trouble on the Pilgrim's Path, and Anora began to worry. She became angry with herself for worrying, and angry with Alistair for making her worry, and angry especially at the Orlesians, because she thought they had probably earned it.

When Erlina found her one afternoon, her eyes urgent, Anora bit her lip and hoped it was good news. Her handmaid curtsied.

"Your Majesty," Erlina said, "The King has returned. He's just arrived at the gates."

"Thank the Maker!" Anora said, and let out a long breath. Erlina cocked an eyebrow at her, but Anora ignored this, waving her hand. "Tell him I will receive him in the courtyard, if he pleases."

Anora made her way to a bench in the courtyard and sat down. She arranged her skirts around her, gathering the folds of silk, and then smoothed her hair with her hands. It fell loose down her back. She sighed. Minutes passed, and more minutes passed, and she looked up at the sky. Perhaps she had been too ambiguous, she thought. She hadn't actually insisted that he see her. Anora stood up to leave.

At that moment, the King arrived.

Alistair entered the courtyard, and she held her breath. He had changed out of his armor into civilian clothing, she noticed, which was perhaps why he had taken so long. Anora allowed that this had been considerate of him, as his armor was probably rank from travel. He walked towards her slowly, his expression unreadable.

"Welcome home," she said, when he was close enough to hear her. Anora curtsied.

"Thank you," he said. They stared at each other.

Anora took a step closer to him. "We had reports of trouble in the north," she said. "I was concerned."

She saw shadows in Alistair's eyes and took another careful step. "It was horrible," he said. "Our party was attacked on the way up by a pack of genlocks, and an ogre. No fatalities, thankfully, but two of my guards were badly injured. I had to leave them behind at an inn." He shook his head. "They weren't infected, though. They should recover."

"That's unfortunate," she said carefully, "but I wouldn't call it horrible...?"

"There's more." Alistair swallowed, and she saw his throat catch. She reached out tentatively to touch him, and he took her hand and squeezed her fingers. "There's a darkspawn emissary that can talk, and he organized a massive assault on the Keep." He looked down at the ground. "All the Orlesian Wardens are dead, Anora. It was a massacre."

"Maker's Blood!"

"I haven't seen anything like that since..." Alistair's voice trailed off, and he lifted his head. His eyes met hers.

"Ostagar," she supplied.

Alistair nodded. Anora felt his thumb move across her palm, the callouses scratching her skin. He took a deep breath. "Luckily the new Commander hadn't arrived yet," he said, "and was not harmed in the attack."

"At least there's that," she said, exhaling. "Did you meet him?"

"Her, actually," Alistair said. "An elven ranger named Sidona Andras. She's been a Warden for about a decade, before that I think she was a hunter in one of the border towns. Sort of soft spoken, dark eyes." Anora looked at him curiously, and he laughed. "Don't worry, I managed to control myself."

Anora looked away. "I really don't care."

"You've mentioned." Alistair moved closer to her, so that her arm hung more comfortably at her side. Her shoulders relaxed. "Sidona seems capable enough," he said. "She's Orlesian, but I think she's spent a fair amount of time among Fereldans. She doesn't even have an accent." He looked up at the sky and sighed. "It will take a while, but I think she can put the Wardens back together. She's already got a few new recruits." He smiled at her then, and his hazel eyes twinkled. "Including Oghren. You'll be happy to learn he survived."

"I... think I am," Anora said, laughing a little.

Alistair smiled weakly, and his eyes had a question in them. There was a question flitting around in her mind, too. Anora knew it was a week to Amaranthine. She could allow for two if there were problems on the Pilgrim's Path, but no more than that. Alistair was waiting for her, and she sighed.

"You were gone a long time," she said.

Alistair looked at his feet. "I also went to Highever," he said, dropping her hand. "To make a memorial for Duncan."

Anora nodded. Ghosts followed them everywhere, and she watched him try to put this one to rest. His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked up at her. "On the way in, we rode past the Orlesian Embassy," he said. "I see you've commissioned a statue of your father there."

"Yes." Anora chewed her lip. "I'm sorry. I should have asked you first."

Alistair frowned, and he pulled a long breath through his teeth. "The location wouldn't have been my first choice," he said, musing, "but maybe it's a good reminder. You know, of how we beat them once and we could do it again. Wouldn't want them thinking that giving Andras the Arling was some sort of invitation." He shrugged. "If it becomes a problem, we can have it moved."

Anora blinked. She remembered Alistair's wrath at the Landsmeet, and the grim satisfaction on his face when Loghain had died. Briefly, she wondered if his current nonchalance was a ruse, but it seemed unlikely. Alistair was a terrible liar. She thought it might be a good time to tell him.

"I'm pregnant," she said.

Alistair's eyes widened exactly as wide as she had known that they would. "You're kidding," he said.

"Why, yes," she said, rolling her eyes. "Ha ha. What a droll joke I've made."

"Sorry." His face colored, and he shifted from foot to foot. Anora rocked back on her heels, watching him. Alistair cleared his throat and managed a quick smile. "Well, this is good, right?"

"Yes," she said. Anora crossed her arms under her breasts. "Although it's a bit overwhelming. I've never done anything like this before."

Alistair's eyes softened. "You don't have to do it alone," he said.

Anora huffed, and she scowled at him. None of this had happened the way she had expected. She wrinkled her nose and said, "I may have missed you."

"Huh. Wait, really?" He was close enough that she could smell the soap on his fresh clothing. Anora shrugged. Alistair cocked his head to the side and looked at her, reflecting, before he shook his head and smiled again. "Well, I guess I missed you, too, then."

Alistair moved a little closer, and for a moment he seemed unsure of what to do. Anora unfolded her arms. He moved his hand to the back of her neck, his thumb behind her right ear, and leaned towards her.

His lips parted slightly as kissed her before he started to move away. She threaded her hands under his arms and drew him back, dropping her head and enjoying his closeness. Her body relaxed against his. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tight against him, and she breathed him in.

"I don't love you, though," she said, into his chest. Anora pulled away slightly and lifted her chin. "Just so we're clear."

Alistair nodded. "Crystal," he said. His eyes fell to her stomach, contemplating its mysteries, before returning to her face. He gave her another quick kiss, grinned and added, "I'm not that fond of you, myself."

Anora laughed. He really was a terrible liar, but then, she probably hadn't sounded all that convincing, either.

-o-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thank you so much for reading! For more Anora/Alistair, the story continues in Pride & Parity, the sequel_


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